


kryptonite

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - High School, Banter, Bullet Mention, Bullying, Drug Dealing, High School, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Prom, References to Drugs, Smallville - Freeform, Smallville AU, Superman - Freeform, Superman AU, nsfw mention, one direction - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-15 01:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 78,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14148978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry Styles has enough problems as it is. Dealing with superpowers, teenage strife and his unavoidable awkwardness is hardly easy… But when he moves to the rural town of Smallville, he inherits a new problem: one that’s 5′7″, unbelievably feisty, and by the name of Louis Tomlinson.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *side note: you don’t have to know/like superman to read this fic- for the most part, it’s just a bog standard high school superhero au. tons of work went into this, so i really hope you enjoy it!
> 
> a big thank you to everyone who helped me along the way. i am forever in your debt.
> 
> tumblr: [scottfic](http://scottfic.tumblr.com/).  
> ko-fi: [scottfic](https://ko-fi.com/scottfic/)  
> [the tag!](https://scottfic.tumblr.com/tagged/superman-au)

1: bad days start with biologists

During the winter of Harry’s eighteenth year, his parents decided he was depressed; presumably because he refused to leave the house, quit all of his extra-curricular activities, and started burning holes in the walls again (which he had not done in months). In hindsight of this, the family decided it was time to relocate.

In the North West of England rests a small town called Smallville that, according to popular rumour, exists beneath a near-constant cover of sunlight. As farmers, Harry’s parents, Michael and Suzanne, decided that this would be of incredible benefit to them, so they purchased a grand piece of land a few metres from the border. Much to their discontent, it was snowing when they arrived- a fact Harry interpreted as a bad omen.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Suzanne said. She said that towards a lot of things- most notably, the various disasters Harry had inadvertently created over the years. “It’ll soon clear up.”

It didn’t, and so, with laboured, heavy steps, the family clambered through the snow and onto the front porch of their new home. It was the traditional English farmhouse- with a barn just to the left of the main building, a tall, arched roof, and a large field sectioned off by a gate. They stood staring at the snow for a moment- their new surroundings sinking in.

“Well, this is it.” Suzanne placed her arms around them. “Our new beginning.”

Harry blinked as a snowflake landed on his glasses, and grimaced as he wiped it off. He wasn’t quite as happy, nor as excited, for their fresh start. In all honesty, it felt exactly the same as their old home had- just colder, and with a rustier gate.

Michael, a woman more ‘to the point’ than her wife, placed her hands on her hips. She wore a bright red parka with white sleeves, gear that rather made her look like a traffic cone.

“It’s nice, I s’pose,” she offered and Suzanne rolled her eyes.

“It’s _lovely,_ ” she amended, squeezing Harry’s arm. “I think we could be very happy here.”

“Yeah,” Harry stared at his feet, “happy.”

It was not an emotion with which he had much experience, but he tried his best- as his mothers had for years with him. For a moment they stood there, watching the snow bear down upon the grass. And then Michael dusted off her skirt, squinting towards the truck in which they had arrived.

“We best get a move on those cows,” she decided. “Leave ‘em in that trailer any longer and we could have a crisis on our hands.”

There was a pause in which Harry realised that his parents were both pointedly staring at him. He adjusted his glasses with the conclusion that there was simply no rest for the weary.

“I’m guessing that means me,” he laughed, uneasy under the attention.

“You damn well _guessed_ right,” Michael playfully gave him a push. “Mr. bloody _muscles of steel._ ”

“I thought it was Titanium?” Harry’s face crumpled in a smile as they walked down the garden to where their truck lay, tied closely to the trailer behind. “Titanium’s a lot stronger than steel. We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yeah, and come to the same conclusion every time-” Michael emphasised. “S’not as catchy.”

Harry arched his head to glance at Suzanne, who was sweeping ice from the front door, and emitted a sigh. He’d been trying to have this conversation with Michael for weeks- he might as well have it now.

“She doesn’t like it when you call me that, you know. Catchy or not,” Harry put his hands in his pockets. “Not to be a downer, or anything. But she’s _petrified_ someone’ll hear.”

“And what?” Michael looked at him. “Figure it out from those words alone? Whose first thought at hearing the words _‘muscles of steel’_ is ‘Oh my God, the kid in front of me must have superpowers’?”

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted. “But it worries her.”

“She worries too much,” Michael assessed.

That much was true. Michael had always been the one more lenient towards the use of Harry’s powers, unlike Suzanne, who stressed discretion at all times, terrified of anyone discovering them.

 _“They’ll throw you in a lab!”_ she’d pressed one night, eyes watery with tears. _“they’ll do such awful, awful things! And we’ll never see you again- God, Harry, promise me you’ll keep these powers, these things- a secret. If you use them outside of these walls- Oh, there’s no telling what they’ll do. It’ll be such a mess... Please promise me, okay? Just promise me.”_

 _“-I promise,”_ Harry had spoken, five years of age. _“I won’t use them, mama. I won’t.”_

And so he hadn’t. He’d lived his entire life that way in fact: hiding his abilities from everyone he knew, and being made the centre of embarrassment nearly everywhere he went because of it. His parents didn’t know, but his most recent bout of depression had been brought along because of, well- the fact that everyone at his school in Cheshire despised him. He was known as ‘Clumsy Harry’ there, mostly because wherever he went disaster tended to follow.

The snow was growing thicker by the minute, the cows were growing more and more restless- they’d have to be moved quickly. The family accumulated quite a few of them back in Cheshire, and had had to sell most of them to finance the move. It didn’t make the four within the trailer any easier to deal with. Harry often thought that whatever Heathcliff, Angel, Edmund and Ursula had lost in numbers, they easily made up for in their general unwillingness to do pretty much _anything._

“Okay,” Harry pressed his nose to the trailer, hoping the cows were listening, “We’re gunna try and move you guys from here to the barn. I know it’s cold. Please don’t be mad at me.”

There came a few disgruntled, unrelated ‘moos’ in response. Harry gritted his teeth.

“Listen,” he stressed. “If you come quietly, I promise there’ll be extra hay in it for you. Okay, so I can’t promise. But I’ll try my best to _accidentally_ overfill the food tubs for you later. Deal?”

Silence, again, but Edmund at least looked up. Harry interpreted that as a yes, and looked towards Michael, who was wrestling open the gate.

“Should I-?” he wondered, one hand on the lock. “Are you ready, I mean?”

“Go wild,” Michael held the gate open. “I s’pose we’re only getting older.”

Harry moved. With a steady creak of the lock, the trailer sprang open, and the cows sprung into action in its wake. Ursula and Heathcliff ran immediately through the gate, tails blazing. Angel needed a little persuading to come forwards, but Edmund, as usual, had stubbornly remained at the other side of the trailer. She seemed incredibly unaware that a disturbance had occured in the first place.

“Hey,” Harry huffed, shaking his head. “I thought we had an understanding.”

Edmund just blinked at him.

“You know-” Harry stepped a little closer. “Cooperation in exchange for hay? Or something like that? You acted as if you’d heard it.”

Again, nothing. Edmund even had the gall to turn her head _away_.

“Okay, fine,” Harry walked towards her. “If you’re gunna be like that-”

With swift ease, he reached beneath the animal, and carried her out of the trailer as if holding a baby. She seemed nonplussed in his arms- perhaps even happier there. Michael watched the spectacle with a slightly arched brow.

“She being stubborn again?” She asked.

“What does it look like?” Harry spoke, feet crunching in the snow.

“It looks a lot like she just wanted a cuddle,” Michael smiled, and rubbed Edmund’s belly. “Go on ahead. I’ll bring the car around before all hell freezes.”

With crunching footsteps and frosted lenses, Harry led the cows towards the barn. It was warmer in there- and Suzanne had began stacking hay barrels against the walls.

She tutted when she saw Harry with a full-grown cow in his arms. She tutted even further when he put Edmund down, and the cow proceeded to sit upon the barrel she was about to move.

“You shouldn’t carry her anymore,” Suzanne stressed, pinching her brow. “It makes her lazier. More annoying to handle.”

“You should’ve seen her before I picked her up,” Harry mused, sitting beside her. “Stubborn as anything I’ve ever seen.”

Suzanne raised an eyebrow. “Reminds you of anyone?”

Harry smiled. In physique they were exceedingly different. Suzanne was squat, tiny and graceful in all of the places Harry rested long, gangly, and with all the elegance of a giraffe. Their heights alone placed them worlds apart- but from their eyes it was hard to tell that Harry was adopted at all. They rested in the same, vivid shade of emerald. The only visible difference was that Harry’s were buried beneath thick, smudged glasses, and Suzanne’s burned more deeply with hope.

“I made a start in here,” she said, tucking a ginger curl behind her ear. “And the delivery men already got most of the boxes inside. But it’s gunna take a while.”

“It’ll be okay,” Harry offered. “I could always unpack. It’d be fast- give you and Mum chance to relax. You’ve been off your feet all day.”

“Oh God, _relax,_ ” Suzanne tilted her head back and emitted a soft sigh. “I’m not sure if I know what that word even _means_ anymore.”

Harry squeezed her hand. “Want me to zip around?”

“And end up with broken glass and wood everywhere?” Suzanne chuckled. “No thank you. I’d rather still have a house by the end of the night.”

He snorted. “I don’t break _everything_ I touch, you know.”

“Oh, I know, baby,” she asserted. “I’d just rather we do it manually. Together. Like a real family.”

“We’re _already_ a real family,” Harry attested. “Unpacking doesn’t, you know, seal the deal or anything.”

“It makes it feel real,” Suzanne breathed. “This move, this whole thing- our fresh new start.”

“Do you really think it’ll be like that?” Harry asked, and his tone was not of malice but instead a calm and gentle curiosity. “Do you really believe things will be better for us here?”

In Cheshire, it wasn’t as though they had been despised- but they were a mixed-race lesbian family with a son birthed from a meteorite. Things were never going to be easy for them.

“I don’t believe so, Harry,” Suzanne whispered, and squeezed his hand. “I _know_ so.”

-

It was with such a vein of thought that Harry attempted to calm himself, two days later. It was a Monday, his unavoidable first day at Smallville High School, and he felt as though he was about to vomit.

Suzanne looked almost as nervous as he did, patting down the collar of his shirt almost religiously. Harry knew it was only to calm him, but the endless tapping was only elevating his nerves. He had to hold her hands still to even _think_.

“Mama,” he mumbled, eyes down. “Please stop. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“I know you are, it’s just-” Suzanne’s eyebrows caved, “I want you to look your best.”

“He looks fine,” Michael chirped, from the top of the stairs. She’d just finished fixing the bathroom sink, Harry accidentally snapped the tap off from his nerves that morning.

“Yes,” Suzanne agreed, eyes welling with pride. “He looks handsome, doesn’t he? So- dapper.”

She cupped his face with her hands, and Harry wrinkled his mouth, unused to the compliment. Attention often made him feel fidgety and this was no exception. However, when Michael came downstairs, she only added to the burden by rubbing his shoulder.

“You look like that guy,” she said. “S’the name? The guy that owned that phone company that one time?”

“Apple,” Suzanne laughed, breaking through her nerves- “Oh- Steve Jobs!”

“Yeah!”

“He doesn’t look like Steve Jobs, dear,” Suzanne wiped her eye. “Steve Jobs was bald. And old.”

“He wore glasses, didn’t he?” Michael pinched Harry’s cheek. “And a big mind.”

“I’m not sure you can _wear_ a mind,” Harry piped in, and she hugged him.

Michael was as tall as Harry was, if not a little taller, and had long braids, which tickled against Harry’s face as she held him. He could hear her heartbeat louder than his own.

“Oh, Chuck,” she smiled, against his shoulder. “You’re gunna be fine out there, you know?”

Suzanne snuggled herself around them, forming the strangest three-person hug that Harry had ever found himself in. Between them both, he felt more like a sandwich filling than a person.

A _doomed_ person, he thought miserably.

“Shit,” Suzanne said, suddenly jumping. “Shit! It’s eight already! You need to- Oh God, you need to go!”

“Okay,” Harry said, body going numb. “Okay.”

“You’ll be late if you don’t leave now- you have money for the bus, right?” Suzanne began to check her pockets- “I think I have some change-”

“He has money, it’s fine,” Michael kissed her hands. “And it’s not as if he doesn’t have superhuman speed, right?”

“I don’t want him to go to _school_ that way!” Suzanne began to wail. “God, he can’t run in this weather! And what about the other kids? What if they saw it? It’s hardly a good first impression!”

The words only heightened Harry’s anxiety. He practically super-dashed to the door, a drop of sweat edging down his skin.

“I’ll be fine,” he replied, slinging his bag on. “Don’t worry. It’s just- what- a few hours, right? I’ll be back before you know it. It’ll be fine.”

Harry gave them one last smile before hurrying out of the door. It was still snowing, and he damned his hypersensitivity to high heaven. When he was nervous it always got worse; his hearing amplified itself to the point where he could hear every single snowflake as it hit the ground, and his eyesight grew so sharp he could almost count them. Biting his tongue, he  walked as quickly as he possibly could towards the bus stop, trying his best not to scream.

The bus wasn’t yellow like it was in the movies. It was burgundy and cream and the windows were all steamed up, hiding the people inside. Well, not to Harry. _Never_ to Harry. He’d had x-ray vision for as long as he could remember, as it was the first ability he ever developed. It made the kids inside the bus all the more terrifying.

Harry could tell from their heartbeats that they were in no way as nervous as him, and mostly gathered in groups already. Harry felt a pang of disappointment that told him he was already too late to fit in. That just like nearly everything else in his life, his loneliness was predestined by some kind of higher power.

A part of him, large and fierce and raging, made him want to fly away.

He got on the bus despite every fiber in him telling him not to, steps awkward, and his head thumping due to the noise. And the smell- God, there was so much smell. The bus stank of teenagehood; pungent, unavoidable, teenagehood. It distracted Harry so much when he stepped on that he didn’t realise why people were pushing past him until it was too late.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, standing to the side- “oh- er- sorry again.”

The bus doors shut and he looked up only to realise that nearly all of the seats were now full. He realised that was why people had been pushing past him. They were just as eager as he was to avoid the crushing high school pecking order; the utter shame of having to stand for the full journey. Someone like Harry, who was joining school in the January of their last year, didn’t stand a chance.

The second thing he noticed was that the entire bus was staring at him.

Not staring as in a _oh, there’s a new kid there_ kind of a way- but a full-on, gawking/glaring combo that felt like they were hired to kill Harry in a past life. He sipped in a sharp breath, suddenly extremely conscious of his various insufficiencies.

He was wearing a red anorak that Michael had picked up for him at a car boot sale. The jeans on his legs were old, black and ripped (once in the correct, socially-acceptable places, but due to the sagging of age and- well- superhuman strength and growth, the rips now lay in jagged, odd places up and down his legs).

The shirt he wore was buttoned up the centre and had a Britney Spears badge sewed into the chest pocket (something he had tried, and failed, to remove). Furthermore, to top it all off, his hair lay sporadically across his forehead and ears in curls that refused to be tamed in any reasonable manner or fashion. He didn’t blame them for staring: at first sight, he would’ve hated himself too.

“Hey, you,” the bus driver yelled, both hands on the wheel. “Sit down.”

“Sorry,” Harry murmured, and instantly began walking down the bus in an attempt of finding a seat. His shoes squeaked loudly in the silence, and God. Harry wanted to take the vehicle between his big flat palms and crush it.

He spotted an empty seat a few rows from the front, and his face flooded with relief. The second someone noticed he was moving towards the seat, however, they scowled with embarrassment, and placed their bag upon it.

“Could you- uh-” Harry’s face flushed. “Is there a chance you could move that?”

“Is there a chance you could _sit somewhere else?”_ They replied, rudely, and Harry could feel the bus driver glaring at the ensuing tension.

He moved on, hopelessness bubbling over his thoughts. He didn’t even know why he kept walking down the bus- he wasn’t looking where he was going in the first place, and his mind had fallen flat of hope. It didn’t matter how hard he tried- things never changed, and he would forever be the kid two steps behind everyone else, forever the kid who was alone and rejected and-

“Hey,” a voice said, sharply.

Harry looked up- two rows from the back, a kid with large eyes, a scruffy denim jacket, and wild hair was glaring at him. His hair was almost as wild as Harry’s, in fact. He was sat with aggressively poor posture, a laptop balanced precariously on his knees, and an earphone dangling dangerously across his chest.

“Sit down,” the boy said. It came out angrily, and for a second Harry just gaped at him, unable to fathom whether it was a joke or not. It can’t have been, because the bus started and Harry lurched forwards, causing the boy to growl- “Hey. Earth to the guy in the Britney shirt. Sit _down_.”

Harry sat down, and didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t think he could in that moment, he was so bewildered by thoughts, senses and feelings that his tongue stuck to his gums.

For a few minutes he sat with his bag on his knee, listening to his heart calm down, eyes closed. When he opened them, the boy was staring at him- that strange, cautionary look still plastered over his face. He had a rather sharp face, strongly articulated, with caramel waves that swept across one eye. It didn’t make his gaze any less impeding- or any kinder to Harry’s nerves.

“I’m Harry,” he said, quickly. Just to say anything- just to _hear_ anything over the whirring of the blood in his veins. “Harry Styles.”

The boy turned away, small hands working at the laptop on his jeans. His hands were the most dainty and powerful things Harry had laid his eyes on. They seemed to fluctuate between the two traits indefinitely. Harry could smell his cologne from where he sat and even the faint tint of his shampoo. (Which was some sort of berry-scented- strawberry? Raspberry? Harry couldn’t tell).

Harry could hear the whirring of the boy’s laptop, and see the things inside his bag. He turned away when the boy stared again at him, this time more precise, more aggressive. He almost seemed to be trying to establish a relationship through hate alone.

“Louis,” he said, rolling up his mouth.

 _“In the fields of observation, chance favours only the prepared mind,”_ Harry recited, without realising he had done so _aloud_. Louis turned to look at him with what seemed to be a permanent expression of utter disbelief on his face.

“What?”

“Sorry,” Harry turned away once more. “Louis Pasteur.”

Louis turned away and blinked for a few moments at the laptop in front of him. He had been writing what appeared to be a news article on the school’s latest sport endeavours, but Harry knew it wasn’t that he was so blankly reacting to.

It was him. Always him, ruining and stomping and screwing up everything. The worst part is, he couldn’t stop, because if he stopped, he knew that he would be alone forever, but if he didn’t stop, he would _definitely_ be alone forever…

“The biologist,” Harry explained, hands in a fumble on his lap. “It’s a quote from the biologist, who invented vaccination, microbial fermentation and pasteurisat-”

“-I know who he is,” Louis said. “He’s pretty famous, you know.”

“Oh,” Harry frowned. “Sorry. It was just that you looked confused, and I-”

“Can you not see I’m writing here?” Louis sent a glare his way. “And that it’s- I dunno- kinda important?”

Harry bit his lip. It had been his longest conversation with someone who wasn’t a cow or his parents in months, and he wasn’t quite sure of how to proceed.

“Sorry,” he said, simply. “I thought you asked me to sit here.”

“Yeah,” Louis shrugged. “Cos otherwise, you’d be eternally lonely! It’s a gesture of general kindness, you know? It doesn’t make us friends.”

“Yeah,” Harry looked down. “I guess you’re right.”

God- Harry just wished he knew how to socialise. Or just generally interact with anyone without fucking up...Or shut his mouth for an entire two seconds…

“But as a _potential_ friend,” he added, unable to stop himself. “How would you rate me out of ten so far? A six? A three? A seven?”

Louis seemed to regard him for a second, blue eyes glazing over with hatred.

“Zero.” he spat. “Literally a solid zero.”

“Oh,” Harry spoke, and frowned quite solidly to himself. That had not- for a lack of a better phrase- gone at all how he thought it would.

Louis frowned to himself in the silence, quite obviously freaked out, and simply put his other earphone in.

-

Louis didn’t mean to be an utter and complete asshole. He really didn’t.

It was just that he hadn’t slept in days. And, because of Mr. Crofter’s various fuck ups as the leader of the journalist club at Smallville High, Louis’ deadline for his sports piece had been moved up to today rather than _tomorrow-_ which meant he had to do it on the bus. Some random kid sitting next to him wasn’t part of the plan. Hell. With clothing like that, Louis wasn’t sure that kid was a part of _anything_.

Louis pinched his nose. He was acting cranky, he knew that- and he also knew that his grandmother would slap him for being so goddamn _rude_.

 _“Where are your manners?”_ she’d say, _“is that any way to treat someone who’s down on their luck?”_

But Louis didn’t have any luck - or status - to spare, especially on someone with glasses the size of Mars. He had just enough to keep himself out of trouble, and to successfully attend some of the most hated clubs at the school without ending up with his head down the toilet.

He firstly attended the LGBT+ group, which he’d founded (to the distaste of many idiots). Then, there was the journalism club, which was ran by the most hated teacher in the school (always set homework and forgot his own deadlines, etc etc etc). Then, the chess club, which Louis didn’t even want to think about (it was only on his list because he wanted something ‘enriching’ to put on his university application). Most days, he didn’t even attend.

It was safe to say that this tiring variety of extra-curricular clubs left Louis’ diary rather full, and his position quite low on the food chain. Louis didn’t care a single dime about any of that popular crap, but he did have at least an inch of pride, and the fact that he was only one tier above the _environment_ club in terms of popularity did sting a little sometimes.

Speaking of which, the bloke next to him on the bus looked like he’d fit right in to the environment club, with his bright red parka and fogged-up glasses. He was just a turtleneck and tights away from becoming Velma from Scooby bloody Doo.

Louis wasn’t going to speak to him again after the whole debacle, but the fact that he was quite blatantly being _stared at_ changed his mind. Now, Louis wasn’t someone to brag, but he knew when he was being checked out. It wasn’t that hard to tell- especially when the guy had his mouth wide open the whole time, like some kind of lost puppy. Louis felt the pessimistic urge to throw him a bone.

“What, have you never seen a human before?” He asked- and the guy just gaped.

 _Gaped._ As though caught red-handed at the most heinous of crimes, as though there was nothing at all within his head. His lips flapped open and shut for a moment, and his cheeks grew pink: matching his mouth’s rich pigment.

Luckily, the bus stopped before anything else could happen, and the guy was one of the first off. Louis couldn’t even remember his name, but as soon as he got up, he knew he already felt sorry for the bloke. In many ways than one, he knew what it was like to be the odd one out.

-

On a scale of one to ten, Harry’s day so far would’ve been a _two_. The only comfort so far was that he hadn’t fainted- but, from the way his hands were shaking, he wasn’t entirely sure that outcome was off the cards yet.

A perk of having superhuman speed and vision was that finding things- most notably, your classroom- was easy. It wasn’t as though the school itself was that large, and since he’d pretty much sprinted from the bus into the building itself, the place was pretty quiet. The people in front of him stopped just inside of the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks- Harry copied them. Like everyone else he’d seen that day, they stopped to gawk at him, as though they’d never seen anything like him in their lives.

They were probably right. But Harry didn’t exactly want them to know that, did he?

The teacher looked up as Harry approached her desk. She was a short woman, with an immense amount of freckles and a stout chin, and some kind of science-y structure on the desk beside her.

“Can I help you?” She asked, looking rather puzzled at the interruption.

“I-” Harry fumbled with his bag. “I’m Harry Styles.”

Already, a sense of recognition dawned in her eyes. Harry was, as expected, already the subject of gossip. _The farmboy with the two mothers,_ he thought, pessimistically. _In the flesh._

“Ah- yes. Of course,” the teacher said, and dug through a leaning stack of papers on her desk until she found the ones she was looking for- “I have your topic list here, Harold, and a map of the school- you know- just in case.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, awkwardly. “And- um- it’s Harry, please. I don’t know why my mum even put my name down as that.”

He did know, secretly. It was because Suzanne was very much under the impression that Harold seemed _classie_ , more _distinct_ and _refined_ in comparison to how ‘normal’ Harry sounded. What she’d failed to realise was that Harry wanted nothing else more desperately than to be normal.

“Harry,” the teacher repeated. She nodded to herself. “I’m Mrs Sampson. Sit anywhere you like- there’s not much of a plan here.”

In reflection of Harry’s disastrous bus experience, this news was music to his ears. He tried to fold himself into a little desk at the back as inconspicuously as possible but despite this, people still stared. He tried to keep his eyes down on the topic list the teacher had given him. It was pretty basic: Energy transfers, Photosynthesis, Respiration. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t done at his old school. That was comforting… and boring. He wondered if his parents would let him dig his old essays from out of the loft- or if that’d be considered cheating. He went through different arguments with them in his head while the teacher droned on.

When the bell rang, a skinny, friendly-looking chap with bleached hair leaned across the aisle to talk to Harry. He was wearing a striped shirt, had the early makings of stubble on his chin, and warm, manic eyes. Harry had liked him even before he’d spoken, because of this fact, and even more when he did.

“You’re Harold, right?” he asked, in a brisk Irish accent- “Sorry- _Harry._ I couldn’t help but hear you from the front.”

“Yes,” Harry rushed, too quickly for his own good, “I’m- Harry. Yes- that’s me.”

He felt incredibly nervous- still unsure of how to quite deal with social interaction in his new environment. At his old school, his position within the social hierarchy had been established from birth: something he could never have changed. Here, he wasn’t quite sure where he stood, and so he trod with all of the grace of a big-footed dog on ice.

“Where’s your next class?” the guy asked overly happily. There was an undertone of curiosity in his voice that Harry couldn’t help but detect- he adjusted his glasses to disguise his thoughts.

“Uh- upstairs, I think,” he recited, scrumpling his face. (Another perk of superpowers- impeccable memory.) “Spanish?”

“Oh, I’m off upstairs!” the guy beamed. “I could show you the way! I’m Niall.”

A smile flooded Harry’s face. “I-Okay. Sure. I’m Harry.”

“I know,” Niall grinned, excitement building in his features. “God- I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You have?”

They got up and left the classroom, the outpour of sound already beginning to overwhelm Harry’s delicate nerves. To distract himself, he stayed as closely to Niall as possible, and tried to focus on the fact that he smelt rather strangely of hazelnut.

“Yeah, totally,” Niall said, pushing past a small group of year sevens- “I just haven’t gotten the chance to actually talk with you until now. I bet this is a lot different than- wherever it is you’re from, right? Cheltenham?”

 _“Cheshire,”_ Harry contributed, scrunching his shoulders. Sometimes, he felt as though he was trying to fit in a world simply too small for him.

“Nice!” Niall grinned. “Sounds exoticccc! Do they have any beaches there?”

“Beaches?” Harry frowned.

“Yeah!” Niall looked warily back at him. “I mean, you look pretty tan, dude.”

Harry scowled even further at that- he was one of the palest people he’d ever seen. “I- uhm- I haven’t been to any. But I’m sure there are some….Somewhere?”

Niall nodded to himself, hair flopping. He had quite quiffy hair, Harry thought, one that seemed to defy nature itself by standing up in such a manner.

“Siiick,” Niall continued. “And I heard your mum’s called Matthew?”

 _“Michael,”_ Harry amended, pushing up his glasses. “It’s, uh, short for Michaela.”

“Makes sense,” Niall nodded. “I mean, if I was called Nialla, I’d still want to be called Niall, you know?”

“I-er-” Harry blinked once more- “I guess so?”

They scaled a pair of bright blue stairs and navigated their way through thick crowds. Niall followed Harry right to the door, although it was clearly marked.

“Well, good luck in there,” Niall said, smile wide. “And thanks for all your help.”

“My- help?” Harry frowned, hand on the door- but Niall just gave him a thumbs up and walked away.

 _Good God,_ Harry thought, deeply alarmed- _the people at this school are strange._

The rest of the day passed in about the same way. In Geography he was asked to stand in front of the class and introduce himself, which went horribly, as he forgot what his name was, tripped over his trainers on the way to his seat, and nearly broke his pen out of nerves. Physics didn’t go half as badly, but mostly because he daydreamed for a good half of it.

The worst lesson of all was English Literature, because not only was he made to introduce himself again, but the teacher kept looking at him in some strange, obsessive way for all of the time that followed, like he was a social experiment gone wrong. Mostly, Harry spent the time dreading getting on the bus again.

And trying his best not to stare at a very agitated, and somewhat glary, Louis Tomlinson. But that was another story altogether.

-

Louis arrived at English Lit ten minutes late. Okay, so what if it was his fault he left football practice slightly later than usual? His socks had gone missing again, and when he found them, they were covered in sanitary pads and down the toilet- some jock’s idea of a joke. Not only that, but he was in a rush to print off Mr Crofter’s stupid bloody assignment, which he handed in upon arriving...Only to be rudely rejected.

“Sorry, Louis,” Mr Crofter said, “Mr Horan’s already submitted tomorrow’s story.”

“But- but-” Louis’ chest heaved. He’d ran all of the way down the corridor, and sweat was gathering beneath his jacket. “Tomorrow’s _my_ day at the school newspaper. You promised. Like, an unbreakable live-or-die kind of thing.”

“Yes, I _promised_ , as long as you got it in for the specified time and nobody else beat you to it,” Mr Crofter lifted an eyebrow. “Alas, you arrived ten minutes late into my lesson, were beaten by Niall’s submission, and have now prompted to halt the entire class. Shall I continue?”

Louis glared firstly at him- and then, at the rest of the room. His annoyance peaked as Niall wiggled his eyebrows at him from the third row. _Bastard._

“Will you even read it?” Louis asked, still holding the paper in his hands. It was still warm from the printer. “I tried so hard on it, and I really think that-”

“-Sorry,” Mr Crofter put his hands up. “Rules are rules.”

Louis wanted to argue, but there was no point. With a grunt he stomped to his seat, only to realise that there was already someone sat in it.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis pinched his brow.

The kid from the fucking bus looked up, timid behind his glasses, curls flat from where he’d been leaning on them. His lips parted once more, trembling. “Um- Are you talking to me?”

“Yes, I’m talking to you,” Louis protested. “Is there anyone else in my seat?”

“Oh-I-” the kid paused, looking down. “The teacher said it was free.”

“Mr Crofter says a lot of things,” Louis stomped his foot. “In fact, I’m not even sure he’s in the room most of the time.”

“So- does that mean you want me to move?” The kid gaped, batting those pretty long lashes of his- and Louis wanted to scream.

He’d met this kid’s type before. Cute, innocent, bordering on naive. Wearing glasses ten times too big for him (usually), and clothes so unbelievably dorky that they must’ve been custom ordered that way. Nine times out of ten, it was an act...Hiding something bigger, something deeper.

The other time, people like that were just that fucking stupid. And annoying. And capable of burrowing themselves into people’s hearts at a rate of knots.

“Yes, it does mean I want you to move,” Louis rolled his eyes. “Jesus. Do I have to spell it out?”

At the front, Mr Crofter had already begun his lesson on Chaucer’s varying technique, and Louis’ patience had all but dried up. He was fucking _done_ with this day, and _done_ with all the people he’d met in it. His socks were still dripping in his bag.

The boy looked rather grumpy as he lifted his bag and books to the next seat along. Louis was going to protest, but after a warning glare from Mr Crofter, decided it just wasn’t worth it.

He sat down and slid out his phone, burning holes in the back of Niall’s head. If he was going to be robbed of his fucking newspaper day, he had the right to know why.

 **To:** Irish Bastard, 2:20pm

**_since when did my best friend think it was alright to steal my writing day?_ **

The response came almost immediately. Naturally.

 **From:** Irish Bastard, 2:20pm

**_as soon as I thought of a better idea than u. soz xoxo_ **

**To:** Irish Bastard, 2:21pm

**_let’s hear it, then. must be groundbreaking for crofter to have shoved me from top spot._ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 2:22pm

**_you just hate not being the best, don’t you?_ **

Louis’ smile became taut, and he pinched his brow.

 **To:** Irish Bastard, 2:27pm

**_just tell me what it is._ **

A second later, a paragraph came through:

**_Myths and Facts: All you need to know about Smallville’s adorable new resident!_ **

_Your favourite news reporter, Niall Horan, is back at it again! Today, he tackles the rumours around the new family in town, the Styles- with an exclusive interview with the kid on everyone’s lips!_

Louis, for some absurd reason, felt immensely angry. He glanced to the guy beside him. Had this guy- _Harry-_ really consented to all of this? He wasn’t exactly sure when new people in Smallville became headline news, let alone better than Louis’ in depth sports article...

The next text he sent was, as Niall probably expected, fuelled by poorly-concealed resentment.

 **To:** Irish Bastard, 2:30pm

**_you’re a right dick, do you know that??_ **

**To:** Irish Bastard, 2:31pm

**_how the fuck did this beat my article on tennis??_ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 2:36pm

**_i love how thats your one concern hahahahahhahah_ **

**To:** Irish Bastard, 2:36pm

**_seriously???????_ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 2:41pm

**_1: its because tennis fucking sucks._ **

**_2:  it’s because you need to listen to what the people r sayin, man!!!! people want to hear about the styles, they dont want to hear about whatever tennis player on the school team you’ve got a boner for at the moment_ **

**_3: don’t get salty just because i’m finally better at something than u :P_ **

**To:** Irish Bastard, 2:42pm

**_this can’t be actual proper news. i mean, they’re just a family, for fucks sake, and i’ve noticed ten typos in your article within the first few lines..._ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 2:45pm

**_you should be quiet and accept defeat, Tomlinson. Bitterness isn’t pretty on you._ **

**To:** Irish Bastard, 2:50pm

**_Fuck you._ **

Niall turned around to beam at Louis, and Louis sent him the finger. It’s what their relationship had been like for years, but in the corner of Louis’ eye, he could see Harry reacting with a look of pure terror. Poor guy, Louis thought. Did he even know he was the focus of tomorrow’s school newspaper? Did he even know it existed?

He looked up, and Harry was staring at the crumpled up sheet on Louis’ desk. When he noticed Louis had noticed him, he flushed pink, and adjusted his glasses.

“It’s not a bad article,” he blurted, in reckless compensation. “He should’ve given you a chance. The teacher, I mean.”

“What would you know about it?” Louis turned away.

God. Why was this kid so desperate to befriend him? All he had managed to do so far was embarrass himself...And frustrate Louis in the process. He appreciated the attempt, but on days like this, where Louis was just _tired_ , and done with everything _-_ he didn’t have time for it.

“A lot,” Harry protested, jutting out his chin. “I now know that Zayn Malik is an exceptional tennis player, and that he’s now won the national championship twice in a row. That’s a fact I wouldn’t have known if not for you.”

Louis felt flattered for a second, and then let out a soundless laugh. “That’s on the third page.”

“Uh…” Harry’s eyes went wide. “It is?”

“Yeah,” Louis frowned even further. “How did you even read that far in, anyway?”

Harry paled as Louis turned the sheets over, frowning deeply.

“You can’t even see page three from where you are...”

Harry gulped, and a prominent Adam’s apple jumped from the collar of his pale blue shirt. He was very mole-y, Louis remarked. There was a mole on the side of his chin, and another two along his neck. His face itself was mostly moleless, but the slight sprinkle of freckles across his nose made up for that. Louis couldn’t really focus on his facial features that much- however- because the kid had gone as white as a sheet.

It was quite honestly the most suspicious thing Louis had ever seen.

The bell rang, saving Harry from an answer, and for a few moments, Louis remained in his seat, craning his neck at different angles to see whether Harry could’ve _possibly_ seen. The verdict was that there was no way he could have, and either Louis was becoming delirious, or Harry wasn’t all that he seemed...

“Come on, then,” Niall called, from the other side of the class. “I know you’re getting used to being second best, and all, but it doesn’t have to apply for which of us leaves the classroom first.”

“Fuck you,” Louis said, despite himself, and gathered his things.

Sometimes, he really hated Niall. Other times, it was just incredibly reassuring to have some sort of escape from his otherwise disappointing life, even if it was in the irritance Niall never failed in providing. It was why they’d clicked, after all.

They walked out of the school together, parting in the car park. Niall drove to and from school in a Fiat he’d gotten for Christmas. Louis had no such thing; the funds from his part time job at an veterinary went primarily towards his university funds. It was at times like these that he wished his pride (as thick as a brick wall and nearly ten times as powerful) allowed him to ask for help.

There was snow everywhere, and the entire car park was coated in it, vehicles sliding to and fro in the slush. Louis didn’t look forward to walking in it. One of these days there was going to be a crash; the entire school had accepted that it was only a matter of time. The only problem was that everyone that _should’ve_ cared was way beyond doing so.

“Are you sure you don’t want a lift?” Niall asked, for what was probably the eight-hundredth time that month. “I promise I won’t boast about my glorious victory too much.”

“You’re _reaaaally_ selling it to me,” Louis squinted, drawing up his hood, “nah. I’m fine. Rather not subject myself to endless Nickelback on the journey home.”

Niall shoved him, breaking out into a cackle. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Louis kicked some snow his way. “See you tomorrow.”

He watched Niall disappear into the car park before tightening the straps of his bag and walking out into the snow. It was the shortcut he had always taken: a diagonal route from one side of the park to the other. It was one that saved time, one that he knew better than the back of his hand...

So sue him for not looking.

Just before he reached the grass verge opposite the bus stop, there came a loud screech- one Louis recognised faintly as those of a truck skidding wildly his way. When people say that _your life flashed before your eyes_ before death, they sure as hell weren’t joking. In a single second, Louis was hopelessly and completely reminded of how little he’d achieved in so much time.

The last thing he saw was the truck lights, flashing and trembling in similar fashion to the heart in his chest. But just before the truck knocked him flat into the pavement, a hand darted out, and all of a sudden, Harry Styles was beside him.

The next thing Louis heard was an almighty crash, and when he came to, he was on the floor, and Harry was still standing above him. Much to his surprise, he wasn’t dead- or even unconscious. In fact, he was just _stood_ there, one hand pressed to the back of the truck, and the other reaching out, wildly, into the air.

Louis couldn’t breathe.

“Shit,” he heard Harry say, below all of the commotion- “shit shit shit.”

He was quite clearly shaking, glasses fallen off into the snow. Louis remained frozen in shock on the ground, the words barely hitting him.

“Are you okay?” Harry stooped, face incredibly red, “are you hurt- did the truck hit you?”

Louis couldn’t fathom a reply. Instead, he watched with wide eyes as Harry removed his hand from the truck- revealing a deep, hand-shaped dent in the boot. He swore at this, and quickly tugged at the truck’s boot, moulding it before Louis’ eyes into a more agreeable shape.

Then, he looked back at Louis,some kind of a plea in his eyes, before becoming a blur, and disappearing altogether from the space beside him. Louis stared in shock at the footprints Harry had left as clear and distinct as the fright fuelling Louis’ heart. For all intents and purposes, he’d never been there at all (Hell, even his glasses were gone).

A second passed, and then, there were people all around Louis. People he knew, people he didn’t- arising all at once, like memories gathered from fog.

Niall got to him first- tugging at Louis’ shoulders, movements filled with urgency. “Louis! Louis! Are you- are you alright?”

The girl in the truck came hurtling out soon after, and was two steps away from calling an ambulance when the first words left Louis’ lips.

“I’m okay,” he wheezed, “I’m- I’m fine.”

His body was unhurt, but his mind was busy trying to understand what he’d just seen. There was one solid conclusion in his mind, however - Harry Styles was _not_ fucking normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i’m aware that according to traditional comic lore, smallville is in kansas! however, i’m incredibly british, so for the purposes of convenience...smallville is now a rural town in england. mmmkay?


	2. Chapter 2

2: the last son of krypton

Harry made it out of the car park with his heart thumping in his chest. No, not thumping- _thundering_. It felt as though the skies above were personally responsible for the rattling of his bones. He’d messed it all up. He’d used his powers, against his mother’s wishes- and oh God, he’d messed everything up.

He didn’t know how far he’d walked into the snow before he was flying. For the strangest of reasons, it was a lot easier when he was upset. The wind seemed to guide his limbs up, up, up- and then, he was soaring blindly into the snow, his hair flapping wildly across his forehead.

“Fuck,” he croaked, into his hands- and hovered in mid-air for a few moments, trying desperately to stifle his tears.

There was always a chance that Louis couldn’t have seen, right? He was in shock, and it was snowing quite a bit, and…

Fuck.

He’d messed everything  up.

“I’m going to have to move,” he whispered to himself, lips trembling as he flew. “I’m going to have to move, and run, and shit- God, what if he calls the police? What if he calls the police and then they have it on cctv, or--”

Harry stopped short, not wanting to think about the rest. The snow whipped around him, sticking to his clothes, and he came to the bitter conclusion that he’d have to land. He didn’t want to though; a large part of him wanted to push for the heavens, just to see how far he could go, and never ever come back…

The first time he’d flown- _really_ flown- Suzanne had been in hysterics for days. He was eight, and after some stupid row with his parents over not being able to throw a birthday party- he’d stomped his foot, and flown out of the window. He didn’t know _how_ he did it, exactly, but once he was up there, he found it rather difficult to come down. It was almost as if his body was urging him towards freedom.

By the time Harry got home, the snow had stopped, and his shoes were jaggedly hovering two centimetres off the ground. He tended to float when anxious, and at that exact moment his mind was a nervous pit, his hands trembling as they opened the door.

Michael was hanging a mirror in the hallway when he came in- dripping, miserable and shaking. She smiled at the sight of him: probably assuming his frown was merely due to the cold.

“How did your first day go, son?” she asked.

“It was fine,” Harry lied, his voice cracking. “Good- yeah. Good.”

“Made some friends?”

“Oh-yeah. Lots,” Harry hung up his coat, and tried his best to force his feet firmly on the ground. “Couldn’t leave me alone for five minutes.”

“Thatta boy,” Michael pinched his cheek- which, from the snow, was wet.

He just sent her a sad smile. He knew that he hadn’t convinced her, not fully- but walked upstairs without another word nonetheless. He was desperate to avoid Suzanne, and equally as relieved to hear that she was tending to the cows in the barn. Another pro of superhuman powers- being able to hear everything within a two mile radius.

The loft was where the meteorite sat. It was inside a massive cardboard box, calm and unassuming, still unopened from the move. A part of Harry knew that his parents wanted it to stay shut. But it was times like this- desperate, hopeless times- that Harry needed to know where his place was in all of this.

He needed to hear it from non-human lips.

The box tore open easily, and within it, the meteorite shone as blue as it had when it’d first landed. It was strange to think that only eighteen years ago, Harry had been inside of it- concealed within a silver pod, the only traces of his homeworld left stashed along with him. As he touched the pod, the meteorite glowed green, welcoming him home in a way.

 _“Good afternoon, Kal-El,”_ a metallic voice said.

The fact that the meteorite talks used to scare him. As a kid he would sob at the voice until it went away- today, he was crying for a very different reason.

Harry sniffed, tucking his knees up to his chest in front of it. “It’s Harry today.”

 _“But Kal-El is your birth name,”_ the robot attested. _“To defy it would be to-”_

“I’m not defying it,” Harry wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I- I just want to be Harry today, okay?”

 _“Okay,”_ the robot repeated. It sounded like Suzanne did whenever she was trying to subtly tell him something. _“Is there anything the matter, Harry? I am here to serve and guide you, if needed.”_

“Yeah,” Harry sniffed, biting his lip. “You could say some guidance is pretty much needed.”

_“In what way? What would you like me to tell you?”_

“Tell me the mission,” Harry’s bottom lip began to tremble. “Tell me again.”

 _“Very well,”_ the robot spoke. _“this is the planet Krypton, your place of birth.”_

A hologram burst from the meteorite- displaying a bright blue planet with silvery clouds blossoming upon its surface. To human eyes, it looked rather like a massive snowglobe...that is, if snowglobes sat in space, galaxies and galaxies away.

_“Krypton was home to the Kryptonians, Xans, Teklons and the Kryptonian Ape, and boasted many interesting scientific features, such as a radius of 6,052 km, an orbital period of 288 days, and two large continents which made up to eighty-nine percent of the planet's landmass. The rest was constructed of crystals, snow and crystalline structures, not too dissimilar to the environment in which you were born.”_

A variation of pictures appeared upon the hologram, ones of snow, intricate glass structures, and what appeared to be a bright purple sky. Harry’s heart ached as he watched- he couldn’t help but imagine himself there.

“Show me the house,” he said.

 _“You, alongside your father, Jor-El, and your mother, Lara, lived within the House of El, a residence not far from the Krypton Space Program,”_ the robot said. A large, spiked mansion appeared on the hologram- cold, yet impressive-looking in nature, with a set of blue skyscrapers in the background. _“The El family was renowned across Krypton for its various contributions to Kryptonian society, and so your father held a place upon the Kryptonian council. Although he was greatly respected amongst his colleagues…”_

“...They ridiculed him when he predicted the destruction of the planet through his experiments,” Harry finished. He’d played that clip so many times- memorised everything he could about his family by heart. And he would play it another thousand times more, just to see their faces again- just to remind himself that it was all real. “Show me my parents.”

The hologram fluttered, and a tall, weathered-looking man appeared on the screen. He had white, curly hair, and a black beard that was split, fantastically, down the middle. Next to him stood his wife, with a delicate, yet determined woman with long brown hair. Harry had her eyes- even from the hologram, that was obvious.

“Hi,” Harry breathed, reaching out to them.

 _“Shortly before the destruction of Krypton, you were born,”_ the robot continued. _“Eager to save your life, Jor-El created a star-drive ship designed to take you to another world - a world where you would be safe. Jor-El explored the galaxy in search of a suitable planet and sent out dozens of probes designed to collect various data.”_

The hologram shifted, displaying thousands of star systems as a time, each one labelled with a cross or a tick. Eventually, it zoomed in on Earth, a giant green tick plastered across its landmass.

_“His research revealed that Kryptonians living in a yellow-star system would develop enhanced physical characteristics including super-strength, speed and agility. Lara described these attributes several times as being ‘God-like’, and that you would easily be worshipped as a deity within such a system.”_

“Worshipped,” Harry rubbed his arms- “Yeah. Right.”

The robot continued. _“Such factors were paramount in the selection of Earth. As massive groundquakes erupted across Krypton and the planet began falling apart, you were placed within this meteorite and sent to Earth. Unfortunately, Krypton exploded and everyone on the planet, including your family, were killed.”_

“Making me the last survivor,” Harry whispered. “And for what? All of these powers, for what?”

He turned away, arms crossed upon his chest. In the silence, the hologram died down, and the robot fell silent,  waiting for more instruction.

“My parents here- Suzanne and Michael, they mean the best for me,” Harry spoke, chin on his knees. “I just- they’ve always said that I shouldn’t show my powers to anyone. And I just don’t know if that’s possible anymore.”

 _“The hiding of your powers does serve a practical purpose,”_ the robot spoke. _“The analysis of human history shows that anything different to that which is considered the norm is often ridiculed, dismissed or appropriated as their own. Usually, the latter is performed through force. Thus, if possible, it would prove of logical paramount for you to conceal your abilities, as they are an outlier of the current social situe and status quo.”_

“What if I already failed that?” Harry looked up. “What if someone knows?”

_“I do not understand the nature of the question. Please specify.”_

“Someone saw me using my powers earlier,” Harry began to shake. “I think. And- well- I don’t know what they might do.”

 _“Would they pose a threat to you, Harry?”_ The robot sounded deeply optimistic. _“Humans vastly pale in comparison physically to that of the average Kryptonian. I can draw up multiple battle schematics that would aid your current predicamen-”_

“No-” Harry sat up. “No! I don’t want to _battle_ him. I just- I’m afraid. I don’t know what to do and I’m afraid.”

If it could, the robot surely would’ve sighed at this stage.

_“I am merely a computer simulated to assist in the preservation of your planet’s culture and ways. I am not, as you would put it, an Agony Aunt.”_

Harry stuck out his lip. He liked the bog-standard robot, and all...but why couldn’t he have been sent the Kryptonian Oprah Winfrey? Being an alien was difficult as all hell.

 _“If it would help for me to adopt a colloquial form as often used by humans of your age and sex on the matter, however…”_ The robot’s voice changed. “I’d say you need to grow a pair of fucking balls.”

And despite his despair, despite _everything-_ Harry laughed.

-

“You don’t understand, Liam,” Louis ranted, pushing his chair out from under his desk. “The steel moved around his hand! Like clay!”

“Louis...” Liam sighed on the other side of the line. “I understand you’re upset about this whole thing. But people don’t just- I don’t know. _Shape_ cars out of the blue, you know?”

Liam had been Louis’ best friend for years. It seemed like he formed the calm and rational side of _both_ Niall and Louis sometimes. Like all of their common sense had been misplaced, somehow and shot into him. Hence why he was the one Louis called whenever he got himself into a jam- such as the day he’d literally seen Harry Styles stop a truck with his bare hands.

“Yes, but,” Louis insisted, holding the phone to his ear. “This is different. This is- fucking groundbreaking.”

“This is...sounding a lot like you’re suffering from concussive brain injuries,” Liam’s voice grew heavy with concern. “Do you remember your name, Louis? Can you count to ten?”

“Listen,” Louis spoke as he sat down. “I’ve spent the last two hours researching this kind of shit. Superhuman strength and speed. And there’s super-strong people- sure- but never anything like this. Human bones simply aren’t strong enough to have an impact on the shit cars are made out of. Like, cars are meant to be as strong as possible in case of a crash, right?”

“Yes,” Liam sounded thoroughly bored.

“So the fact that he literally left a handprint in the back of a car _doesn’t_ irk you?”

“Niall checked that car so many times, Lou,” Liam stressed. “There was nothing wrong with it. Nothing at all.”

“I saw Harry push it _back,_ remember?” Louis’ excitement only built. “And that’s the thing- he _saw_ me see him. So of course he was gone before anyone saw him!”

“In half of a second?” Louis could almost hear Liam pinch his brow through the phone. “Listen, I love weird stories as much of the next guy, but people rushed to you right after you fell. And there was _no_ Harry!”

“That’s what I’m saying!” Louis scrunched his hair. “Superhuman speed! Now, this website I’m on states that the use of steroids can boost the average male’s run speed by about-”

“-Louis-”

“And that’s at least a thousand times slower than how fast this guy moved right there, in front of me, so maybe-”

“-Louis-”

“-there could be some kind of foul play, some kind of weird-ass new drug, or-”

“LOUIS!” Liam stressed. “Please. Let’s just leave it before you get too carried away-”

“I’m not getting carried away!” Louis replied. “There’s something going on with this guy, and I just-”

There was a pause, in which Louis glared in frustration out of his skylight, and Liam presumably paced. He did that whenever Louis was being particularly annoying with him.

“You want to prove that he potentially has superpowers,” Liam spoke, carefully, “He’s a farm boy from Cheshire, Louis. Where on Earth do you think he got these powers from?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you- are you attesting that he’s some kind of- of alien?” Liam laughed lightly. “Because, you know, that sounds a lot like the startings of malicious rumours to me. It sounds a lot like-”

“What Niall did, I know,” Louis rolled his eyes. “But it’s not slander. It’s not some dumb thing in the Smallville High Newspaper- it’s _real._ Harry _did_ help me, he _did_ dent the boot with his hand, and I’m not going to stand by and let everyone pretend that shit’s normal! Because it’s not!”

“You know what, Louis-” Liam sighed. “If you’re not willing to see how ludicrous this all is, I’m not going to try and convince you.”

“Fine,” Louis crossed his arms. “But I’m not going to drop this, Liam. Don’t expect me to.”

He hung up the phone, and sat for a moment, staring at his laptop until his eyes began to burn.

God. None of it made sense. Sure, a part of what Niall said was right- Louis truly did despise people helping him- but that didn’t account for a man literally moving _steel_ with his fingertips. He was going to get to the bottom of this- whether Niall liked it or not.

“Fuck,” he said, rubbing his forehead.

“What was that I just heard?” a voice said. Louis’ grandmother had poked her head around the door, face rippling with concern.

“Nothing?” he offered, turning back around.

Granny Viv was a soft woman, with long, flowing skirts that almost made it look as though she was flying. When he was younger, Louis had thought that meant she was some sort of goddess. She’d first looked after him when he was a toddler- it was meant to be for the weekend. But, days turned into weeks, and when things didn’t get better, weeks turned into years.

Louis didn’t mind it all too much. It was a vast improvement to the ways things used to be. And despite all of her flaws, Viv was essentially a friendly woman, a God-fearing woman, and also a woman who consistently had a smile on her face, which made the times that there _wasn’t_ all the more poignant.

Such as now.

“First you get yourself into some traffic accident at school,” Viv sighed, bringing a tray in. “Now you seem to think swearing under this roof is okay?”

“It wasn’t a traffic accident, nan,” Louis scowled. “Some girl just reversed onto the ice a little bit. I just happened to be in the way.”

“Oh, and I’m sure you had no hand in that either,” she raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Louis turned around again. “I didn’t!”

Viv tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and gave him the _look_. The _don’t even try it_ look. “I’ve known you your entire life, Louis William Tomlinson. I know when you’re lying.”

“So?” Louis ran a hand through his disheveled brown hair. “I wasn’t looking. Sue me.”

“I thought I raised you better than that,” Viv began messing with the things on Louis’ dresser- he hated it when she did that. “What have I always said to you, ever since you were nay high? Always wait for the green man, look both ways before you cross a roa-”

“-Okay, I get the picture,” Louis scrumpled up his mouth. “I should’ve looked. I won’t do it again.”

“Good,” she pinned him with a stern look. “Now, I’ve brought you some painkillers for your head, just in case.”

“In case of what?”

“Niall’s mother rang me. Niall says you’ve been having _delusions_ ever since your fall.”

“Oh, of course,” Louis glared at the wall. “That’s just typical.”

“So I’d like you to take some of those,” she looked around. “And for the love of God, Louis, tidy up your room. It’s disgraceful. I can’t even see the floor.”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

“I expect to see it clear by dinnertime,” she fussed. “Oh, and if the symptoms of these delusions continue- the number for the doctor is in the phonebook. What’s that?”

He followed her glare to see that it rested directly on his laptop screen, and he closed the tab on _speed-enhancing steroids_ in response. “Nothing.”

She pursed her lips. “It better be.”

The doorbell rang- and his grandmother, unable to resist- was out of the room in the time it took for Louis to reopen the tab. He was saved.

 _“How’s your day, Louis?”_ he mocked, tilting his head. _“How are you? Oh, you wrote an amazing article today, Louis? That’s great!”_

He closed his eyes in pure bitterness. Who was he kidding? He’d never gotten that sort of easy praise from her, and needed to stop telling himself it’d arrive. Some things were simply not possible.

What was possible, however, was finding out whatever the fuck Harry Styles was hiding under that jumper, glasses, and seemingly endless layers of curls. Louis ground his jaw, opened a new file, and got to work.

-

Standing at the bus stop the next day, Harry considered his options.

  * He could walk to school. Pros: exercise, colour in his cheeks, time to himself- and an amazing lack of people who know you have superpowers (as well as the extreme awkwardness of the bus). Cons: Suzanne would freak out over him walking in the cold, and if he got lost, he didn’t exactly know the address of the school yet (flying was a lot easier).
  * He could ask his parents for a ride. Pros: Lots. Cons: their truck was used by Suzanne in the mornings and even if it wasn’t, Michael would either say it would be “character building” for Harry to make his own way to school, or Suzanne would make a massive fuss over him at the school gate in front of everyone no less).
  * He could fly. (In _broad_ daylight? Ha.)
  * He could not go to school- eliminating the entire problem before it became a problem. Considering how concerned his parents already were over him, this was an unlikely solution.
  * He could follow his robot’s advice: and grow a pair of fucking balls.



The bus drew up and against his better judgement, Harry got on.

There were less people on it today, probably because the weather had died down, which was good. It meant that Harry dashed to the first empty seat, and let out a sigh so big the air in front of him started freezing. (Another con of having superpowers: ice breath. Quite possibly the worst in Harry’s arsenal, if not for inconvenience alone.)  

Luckily, he clamped his hands over his mouth quickly enough for no-one to notice. But that was right before Louis Tomlinson plonked himself into the seat next to him.

“You owe me an explanation,” was the first thing he said.

Harry looked up with a mixture of anticipation and fear. Louis was very much laptop-less today, and instead sporting a deep navy jacket, a backwards baseball cap, and a badge on his t-shirt that said _I'm just a musical prostitute, my dear._ Harry didn’t understand the reference.

“I- uh-” Harry blinked, and as he met Louis’ eyes, all present thought disappeared from his mind. “What?”

“I want to know the truth,” Louis pressed, despite Harry’s stuttering, and leaned slightly into his shoulder. “I want to know how the fuck you carved steel with your hands.”

“I-” Harry gaped. This was exactly the kind of scenario he’d worried about all night. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Louis pointed a finger. “You know what you did.”

“Do I?”

Louis stared at him for a second, those beady little eyes burning a hole into Harry’s head.

“In the car park yesterday,” he spoke. “That truck was going to hit me. We both know it. But you stopped it. Your hand left a dent in the boot when it should’ve smashed my entire face in, and you’re somehow not hurt at all. So what is it?”

“What’s what?” Harry loosened his collar and began to look out of the window. The bus had started, but it was driving so slowly that Harry felt the urge to bust out and fly all of the way home once more.

“Come onnn,” Louis pressed. “Your secret!”

“Who says I have a secret?” Harry struggled to keep eye contact. He was a shitty liar- and they both knew it.

“Dude,” Louis breathed, eyes vividly blue- “You’re quite possibly the most fucking shady guy I’ve ever seen. I mean, who wears space jumpers anymore?”

He jabbed his thumb towards Harry’s torso, and Harry stuck out his bottom lip. He hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with his outfit that day- in fact, it was one of his favourites. It was black, and thick, and had pink and purple planets dotted across the torso. If Louis had seen the shirt underneath, which was an awful Shakespeare tee that had _“I PUT THE LIT IN LITERATURE”_ in bold font, then perhaps he would’ve understood.

Louis could rib him all he liked, and maybe even insult him. But, by God, if he came for Harry’s space jumper- a line had to be drawn.

His face crumpled in consternation. “There’s nothing wrong with my space jumper!”

“Exactly!” Louis threw his hands in the air.

“Exactly?”

“Yes,” Louis empathised. “Anyone in this day and age who wears a space jumper either needs to be shot or has got something to hide. So which is it?”

Louis’ movements grew increasingly more and more frantic, his shoulders bobbing with every word he said. When he spoke, his entire face seemed to move with the effort.

Harry’s mouth trembled in complete and utter awe. What the _fuck_ was he even meant to say to that?

“So is that a yes for shot?” Louis asked.

“I- I just--”

“-I mean, that’s if bullets even hurt you.” Louis continued. He was close to Harry, now- _dangerously_ close- and Harry’s heart was hammering so loud he feared it might burst out of his chest completely. “Do they?”

“I- I wouldn’t know,” Harry spoke, wetting his lips. “I’ve never been shot, personally.”

“No?” Louis’ eyes narrowed.

“No!” Harry insisted. “Of course I haven’t!”

Louis ignored him, instead pulled a notepad out from his jacket, and angrily scrawled at the third bullet point down.

Harry blinked, completely and utterly astounded. “What is that- is that a _list?”_

“Of potential explanations for your inherent weirdness, yes,” Louis expressed, eyebrows low. “I drew it up last night. The way I see it, a bullet wound _may_ have led to a hand operation which gave you, in the long run, a fake hand.”

“Which can presumably bend steel,” Harry continued. “Is- is that about right?”

Louis glared at him again. “When _you_ say it, it sounds stupid.”

“Well, it is stupid,” Harry adjusted his collar. “And I’d appreciate it if you stopped grilling me now.”

“So it’s not a fake hand,” Louis glanced to Harry’s wrist. “Are you certain?”

“I-I think I’d know if I had a fake hand!” Harry was quickly growing irritated. To prove it, he held his hands out to Louis, and for a second, Louis looked as though he believed him.

Then, he moved forwards a little, and tugged Harry’s sleeve back, seeing if there was any mark where, presumably, his fake hand finished, and the real skin began. He must’ve found nothing, because his face crumpled in disappointment once more.

“See?” Harry pressed, hands flat on his knees.

Louis’ mouth twitched for a second. He held up the pen, carefully monitoring Harry’s expression, and then stabbed Harry’s hand with all of his might.

For Harry, of course, it didn’t hurt. He just frowned- unsure of the purpose of such an exercise.

It took him a whole second to realise that he probably should’ve given the human response and cowered in pain, or something, but by that point Louis’ pen was a crumpled metal mess on Harry’s palm, and it was all too late.

Louis began hysterically laughing, pointing with a glee the likes of which Harry had never seen. “I fucking knew it!”

“Shh-!” Harry pressed, manic. His hands were shaking against his will, and Lord, this was going badly-

“I knew it! Your hands- they’re magic or something, right? Some kind of voodoo shit?”

“It’s nothing, okay? The pen’s fine,” Harry dropped the crumpled remnants on the floor, and kicked it under the seat in front. It did nothing to ease Louis’ utter delight, however. He was clapping his hands like he’d just won the lottery.

“It’s fucking _flat,_ mate!” Louis wheezed. “You turned it into a fucking frisbee!”

Harry began to fall into complete and utter panic: people were turning to stare at the commotion, and for some reason, his first instinct was to clamp his hand over Louis’ mouth.

This did not go to plan, for multiple reasons.

Firstly, Harry and touching didn’t go well together. Mostly because he was so scared of crushing someone like an egg in his hands. Secondly, because Louis’ lips felt so soft beneath his palm- and Harry never needed to know that. Such information only proved incredibly distracting.

Mostly, because in response to the touch, Louis decided to yell even further.

“Shh- please- just-” Harry began to beg, and then realised there was no point in it. Louis tore Harry’s hand from his face and pointed his other hand at him.

“What were you gunna do, then?” Louis was a mixture of yelling and grumbling- “Melt your hand into my face? _Suffocate_ me?”

“No- Listen- I can’t do any of those things,” Harry took his hand out of Louis’ grip. “I shouldn’t have touched you, and I’m sorry. I just think you need to let this go.”

“Let this go?” Louis repeated, blinking rapidly. He had extremely long eyelashes, and it showed. “You did _that_ to a car, you did _that_ to a pen and you want me to _let this go?”_

They arrived at school, and when after a moment Louis hadn’t budged from his seat, Harry got up without him. Louis continued to frown at him, frustrated, as though he’d never experienced such disappointment in his life.

“I don’t know what you saw,” Harry made one last bid for an escape. “And I don’t know what you’re thinking. But you need to let it go. Please.”

With that, he left, and had never been happier to leave a bus in his life. He reminded himself never to save a person’s life ever again.

Especially one that belonged to someone as irritating as Louis Tomlinson.

-

“Watch it, Queen.”

The resident head of the jocks, a guy called Stenlock Marsden, pushed roughly past Louis as he entered the changing rooms. He had hated him ever since Louis had the _audacity_ to join the football team and be outwardly gay both at once. As the head of the football team, Stenlock had devoted every waking moment to convincing the rest of the team that being in the same changing room as Louis spread his sexual attraction to men to them (or something) which meant Louis got changed alone.

It almost meant that he often found many of his possessions down the toilet after practise, which was fun. It didn’t bother him much- Louis enjoyed continuing shit just to spite people, but after a day containing disappointment of disastrous proportions, he wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

Everyone in his sports class already called Louis _Elton_ , but Stenlock had already moved on to _Queen_ and _McKellen_. Eventually, he was going to run out of iconic gay men to name him after, but until then, Louis’ response would always be - “Who the fuck calls their child _Stenlock_?”

It made sense that Stenlock was in Louis’ sports class- because sports class was an extension of Hell, and Stenlock was definitely some kind of demon. The main reason why Louis hated sports class so much was that- unlike at football practice, where everyone wore their own stuff- Smallville High forced a uniform upon their last year students.

Louis’ fit him terribly, and seemed to serve the sole purpose of pointing out the varying curves of his ass. Everytime he dressed in it he felt like Nicki Minaj, for fuck’s sake- and the shirt the school gave him was a polo shirt, which was something so straight that everytime Louis saw it he physically recoiled in terror.

Today, however, there formed an interlude. Because standing in Louis’ part of the changing room, blissfully unaware, was Harry Styles.

“No,” he said, once he noticed Louis. “No no no.”

“Hey,” Louis scowled at him, hanging up his bag- “If you didn’t want to deal with interrogation, you shouldn’t have come to my part of the changing room.”

There was a pause, and then Harry’s face went blank with confusion. “This is _your_ part?”

“Yeah,” Louis removed his shirt and slid on the ugly-ass school one. “Didn’t you hear? It’s Gay Corner, 234 Het Tears Lane.”

The shirt looked as ugly as it always did- a deep orange, and baggy in all of the wrong places, especially beneath Louis’ belly button. Who the _fuck_ decided that deep orange should be a colour at all? Did it look good on _anyone_? Louis turned around to pull his socks up, and noticed that Harry was still frowning to himself- presumably about the gay thing.

“It’s not that deep,” Louis shrugged. “I’m gay, and they don’t like it. You’re welcome to join them if you like.”

Harry frowned even further. “No- I’m not uncomfortable because of that.”

“What, then?” It was Louis’ turn to scowl. “Flattening everything you touch makin’ you a little jumpy?”

Harry rolled his eyes, and then began to take his ugly space jumper off (Louis smirked at that). “I’m uncomfortable because I feel like I’m being investigated at every turn.”

“So you should,” Louis crossed his arms.

“Why?”

“Because you are,” Louis snorted. “And I’m not going to stop until I know whatever it is you’re hiding.”

“Why? I don’t see why it’s so important to you,” Harry stuck out his lower bottom lip- he had fat, pinkish lips, ones that looked like they could’ve belonged to Cupid. “All you’ve done is be mean to me. And all I’ve done is save your life.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” Louis argued.

“Well, next time I’ll just leave you to get crushed by a car,” Harry stomped his foot. “How’s that sound?”

“It sounds perfectly normal,” Louis gestured. “But you guess what’s _not_ normal? Stopping a car with your hands or rewriting the fucking laws of physics or whatever it is that you-”

“Oi,” the teacher stuck his head from the doorway to the other changing room, frowning. “Gents. Stop having a lover’s quarrel and get the Hell onto the pitch.”

Louis ground his jaw. “Alright. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

“Yeah, well,” the teacher pointed his finger. “Don’t think I don’t see an attempt of staying out of the cold when I see one, Tomlinson. Football team or not.”

Louis rolled his eyes and tied up his boots, acutely aware of Harry’s eyes on him. He scowled upwards.

“What?” he spat. “He’s not joking, you know.”

“I didn’t think he was,” Harry spoke, defensively, “I just-”

He broke off, one leg into his shorts, and one leg out. Louis refused to admit that Harry looked rather good in deep orange- it shone against his pale, moley skin, and made his eyes seem all the more poignant. For a second he stared at Louis with them, an incomprehensible look within his expression.

“What?”

Harry closed his mouth. “I just think it’s cool you’re on the team, is all.”

Before Louis could answer the teacher was back in the room, and as far as he was concerned, that meant the conversation was long over.

-

Tennis at Smallville High sucked even more than Harry thought it would. Mostly because he was constantly having to regulate the speed at which he hit the ball, which made him look like a wimp, and made the teacher constantly groan in disappointment.

“Jesus, Styles,” he said, hands on his knees. “Are you even _trying_ to get it over the net?”

He was also distracted. He didn’t know why, but he’d unsettled Louis with his accidental compliment about the football team. He didn’t even know why he’d said it.

Maybe it was because he was obscenely jealous. Harry hadn’t been allowed to join sports teams, or even remotely hint at the fact that he could run faster than anyone on an Olympic sprint track. He’d been made to look like an absolute loser his entire life because of it- and Louis was free to show off as he pleased.

Well, not entirely free. The ‘gay corner’ comment made Harry feel sick. How dare his schoolmates treat him like that? Harry wasn’t exactly Louis’ number one fan, but still…

Speaking of Louis, the kid had been catching glimpses at him for the entire lesson. Whether it was to catch him out doing some ‘supernatural’ shit or just to check up on him, Harry couldn’t tell. Every five minutes, the pairs would rotate around, and eventually- inevitably- Harry ended up on the court next to Louis. Louis was facing a guy called Henlock? Sherlock? He couldn’t remember. Louis had stopped staring at Harry, though, which was always a bonus.

Harry’s opponent was a rather full-on guy called Todd. He kept hitting the ball with all of his strength, which meant that it kept going straight towards the net, and Harry was grateful that he wasn’t the worst person on the court for once.

And yet...Louis was still having a worse time than Harry. He wasn’t playing at all, and instead, seemed to be exchanging insults with the person on the other side of the net. For a brief moment it seemed as though he’d won the insult match, and then, Spenlock (?) picked up the ball, waited until Louis had turned away, and then pelted it at full speed towards his head.

Harry really needed to stop saving Louis’ life. He was rude, petty, and pestering to the point that it was nearly unbearable. But nonetheless, as if almost in slow motion, Harry ran forwards, and caught the ball just before it hit Louis’ head.

For a moment the both of them just stood there, silent and barely breathing. Harry’s hand was just above Louis’ ear- Louis’ face had a smile on it. Then, he turned to face Kenlock(?) and jumped on the spot.

“Yehhh! Take that, you asshole! Try throwing something at me again! Just _try_ it!”

Harry took a few rapid steps back before the teacher arrived, and knew that he was fucked just from the way Louis grinned at him.

-

“So,” Louis spoke, animatedly, as they got back into the changing room. “How does it work?”

“How does what work?” Harry said, bitterly.

“You know,” Louis balled his hands into fists. “The thing. The whole- I don’t know, _weird_ thing.”

“The whole weird thing,” Harry repeated, deadpan. In all honesty he was way too tired for this- any of it. Tennis and the resulting awkwardness had seemed to drain it all out of him.

“Well, it must be a steroid of some kind,” Louis pressed, leaning against the wall beside Harry. “Drugs? Is it drugs?”

“No- It’s not drugs,” Harry scowled, taking his shirt off. “Jesus. Why would you even think that?”

“Well, your reflexes are good. _Too_ good,” Louis crossed his arms. “At first I just thought it was tough hands, but the way you moved...It’s something more, isn’t it?”

“No comment,” Harry folded his sports shirt and put it in his bag.

A sudden grin grew on Louis’ face. “Is your entire body this way?”

He took his shoe off and threw it at Harry- it bounced off as if hitting a trampoline. Again, Harry reacted too late to recoil in shock. He grimaced instead.

“Stop doing that!”

“Stop saving my life from shit and I will!” Louis ran forwards. “I mean, Jesus, do I have to run into a fire next? Jump from a building?”

“I’m just being nice!” Harry stressed- his frustration growing to an unbearable level. “Do you know what _isn’t_ nice? Constantly asking people questions and throwing shit at them!”

Louis rolled his eyes and walked back to his bag. “So you’re telling me, if I was the one with indestructible skin and super fast movements that you wouldn’t be a little curious?”

“I wouldn’t constantly badger you about it, no,” Harry threw on his jumper. “It’s called basic etiquette.”

“Well, basic etiquette got thrown to the dogs the second you broke a truck with your hands,” Louis raised his eyebrows.

Harry was done with the conversation by that point and spent the rest of his changing time in angered silence. God- he never knew one single person could be so irritating. And rude. And just plain-old nosy. When he agreed to never tell anyone about his powers he never thought anyone would be _this_ bothered about finding out about them.

He cut a glance Louis’ way. Unlike Harry, Louis didn’t have a lanky body. His skin rested more gently in opposition to Harry’s various gangly rough edges and limbs- with a pair of dainty shoulders, long arms and pronounced shoulder blades. Again, Harry burned with jealousy. Louis’ physique was soft, but it was strong: built with months of training and sport. Harry had no such training, and so he felt helplessly useless in all that he did.

He supposed that wasn’t his fault - the first time his parents bought him a treadmill he’d burnt a friction mark into the floor - but _still._ It was another chance normal people got that he simply would never receive.

Harry got up to leave the changing room to go to his next lesson, which just so happened to be Ancient History. He was already dreading it, but it suddenly didn’t seem so bad when a small hand darted across, barring the exit.

“Okay, so I see that my current strategy maybe isn’t working,” Louis said, eyes intense. “So I’m willing to make a deal.”

He was dressed now, his jacket and baseball cap on, hair protruding from it at every angle. Harry fought the urge to turn the baseball cap around the right way and pushed Louis’ hand from his path.

“A deal?” he gaped. “What sort of a deal could I possibly want to make with you? You were rude to me on the bus, you said I was a _zero_ out of ten on the potential friend radar, you’ve thrown _multiple_ things at me, you’ve stabbed me with a pen, you’ve invaded my privacy and ignored every single of my wishes-”

“-And can stop you from becoming the day’s laughing stock,” Louis finished. “Listen. My friend Niall? Blonde, seems friendly but isn’t? He _interviewed_ you yesterday. We’re part of the school newspaper club here, and the story he wrote just beat mine to be today’s publication. It gets distributed around every classroom at lunchtime each day, and read by- well, I’d say- quite a lot of people.”

“Wait- hold on - that was an _interview?_ ” Harry’s eyes went wide. “But Niall just- he asked me like, one question and I-”

“-It’s more than enough for Niall, trust me,” Louis batted his hand. “But what you should also know that the teacher who chose the newspaper? _Lives_ for drama. Hell, half of the shit Niall’s written is barely true in the first place. If Mr Crofter likes it? You’ve probably got seven kids, a love triangle, and a collapsing bid in the stock market if Niall’s got anything to do with it.”

“I don’t- I just-” Harry closed his eyes. “How do I stop it?”

“That’s the thing. You can’t,” Louis shrugged. “But I can.”

Harry didn’t trust it: in fact, he hadn’t trusted a single word that had left Louis’ mouth after he’d saved his life, which sounded pretty strange now that he thought about it. The last thing he wanted was to end up indebted to Louis through some tenuous link he’d just made up.

“The school newspaper goes out to everyone in an hour,” Louis pressed. “Only club members have access to Mr Crofter’s printer. I go in, I switch Niall’s story with mine, and I get rid of the copies.”

“That sounds…” Harry frowned. “Slightly against school policy.”

“Seriously?” Louis scowled. “I think taking _steroids_ is pretty against school policy!”

“I don’t take steroids! Wait- you don’t…” Harry took a step back. “You don’t seriously think that, do you?”

“That’s the least of your worries,” Louis wrinkled his nose. “In an hour- your social life is fucking over, dude. Come on.”

“I don’t trust it,” Harry said, and walked past him. Louis was quick on his heels, insistence growing.

“Come on,” he begged. “I just- I just want to know what’s going on with you. That in exchange for your social freedom. It’s hardly a big ask, is it?”

“So what?” Harry snarked. “You can print whatever story you want on me? Make some easy cash?”

“No!” Louis grabbed his hand. “Listen, I just-”

They stopped in the hallway, and Louis tugged Harry to look at him, looking the most sincere he had all day.

“-I just hate not knowing things, okay? I hate it. And I know I’ve been rude. And I’m sorry. It’s just- worked with everyone else I’ve tried it on, and I don’t know...If you don’t tell me, I’m legitimately going to lose it,” he let out a small laugh. “Big time.”

Harry felt bad- he couldn’t help it. His resolve was wearing away, despite his reluctance.

“It feels like you’re getting more out of this deal than I am,” he bargained, instead. “I mean, what- you get _your_ story printed? _You_ get to know something about me? You get your life saved? Twice? It’s very much about _you_.”

“Fine,” Louis put his hands on his hips. “Businessman. I stop the paper running, what else do you want?”

Harry thought on it for a moment and grinned. “I want you to teach me how to play football.”

“What?” Louis’ chin dipped. “I mean- what?”

“I’ve never been able to play,” Harry bit his lip out of nerves. “Incredible strength, and all.”

Louis’ eyes lit up at the new knowledge, but he decided to drop it. “Why me?”

“You’re on the football team,” Harry pressed. “I mean- you know things.”

There came a pause, in which Louis chewed studiously on his lip, and all Harry could think about was how large the size difference between them was. Harry could’ve rested his chin upon Louis’ head, if he so wanted.

(Not that he would ever want to. Or go anywhere remotely near Louis’ skin again.)

“Fine,” the bell rang, and Louis rolled his eyes once more. “Deal.”

“-And you have to stop pestering me, like, all of the time,” Harry warned. “And getting yourself into danger, so I have to step in, and like- I don’t know. Safe your life.”

“Or maybe you could just give less of a shit about my life,” Louis raised an eyebrow. “For the asshole that I am, it should mean less to you.”

“Or maybe I just care about human life in general, and don’t want to see someone die?” Harry scowled. “Like, ever?”

The smile on Louis’ grin appeared out of nowhere, like he simply could not have believed his luck. Or simply believed that Harry was that stupid. It was unfortunate, because Louis had a rather nice smile, when it came to it. It was one that lit a fire that set the rest of his face alight- like some sort of a torch that ran directly to his eyes. If he was a bit nicer in person, Harry might have gone so far as to say his eyes were _gorgeous_ when he smiled.

“Deal,” Louis said.

They shook hands, and Harry couldn’t help but realise how small Louis’ hand was in his. And how warm he felt. God. Harry had twice the amount of nerve endings in his hand than the normal human did, which meant he could _feel_ him a lot more. How soft Louis’ hands were, and even the oddest scrape or bump or scar upon them.

“This doesn’t mean I’m going to be your mentor for life, or some shit,” Louis narrowed his eyes, and his nose wrinkled in turn. “I still don’t like new kids, or pandering, or- you know- anything. I’m not the most popular guy, and I’m certainly not going to be your saviour. I’m just going to teach you football.”

“Yeah,” Harry felt a little out of joint. “Okay. I- I’d never ask for anything more from you.”

“Okay.” A flare of relief shot through Louis’ eyes, but he soon dismissed it with a cold, focused stare. “The truth. And the _whole_ truth. Tomorrow, after school.”

“Where?”

“I’ll find you,” Louis muttered. “Just don’t go home when the last bell rings. And, for the love of God, don’t break anything else. Not everyone’ll be as fun with your secret as I am.”

“Fun?” Harry said, as Louis let go, and walked on down the hallway. “Wait, who said anything about _fun?”_

He didn’t get an answer. It was only when Louis had disappeared completely from view that Harry realised how completely and utterly late for class he had become.


	3. Chapter 3

3: chaos has a name

Smallville was a small town, which meant that it generally had only one of everything (hence the name. Louis thought the name ‘convenienceville’ might’ve worked better in the long run). To this effect, there was a tiny football stadium just left of the High School, and an _equally_ as tiny dog park beside the gym. There was also one veterinary centre, which resided on the end of the high street- squished between the local supermarket and chip shop. It was at this centre that Louis worked every afternoon- often clad in obnoxious shades of pink and purple.

Today, he approached it earlier than usual, in a jacket and jeans- a skateboard tucked beneath his arm. His boss, a tall woman called Amy, greeted him from the desk.

“You’re here early,” she said, frowning. “Aren’t you meant to be at- whatsit called- school?”

“Nah,” Louis shrugged, tucking his skateboard under his arm. “I mean, not yet. It’s not even eight.”

“So what do you want?” Amy asked.

She wasn’t the nicest person, but she had bright purple hair, which Louis appreciated. He didn’t like the fact that she’d painted the entire veterinary to match- a glaring hot pink carpet underfoot, and luminescent lavender walls surrounding- but in a world filled with nonsensical drabness, he took what he could get. He’d worked as her assistant for a few months now, and had grown to love the place.

(Mostly because of the animals. But he supposed the building was alright too.)

“I came to wonder if I could _maybe_ swap my shift tonight,” Louis bargained, leaning on the desk.

Amy’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “That’s a little short notice.”

“Yeah,” Louis ran his hands through his hair, and frowned a little to himself. “I know. Sorry. Something just came up, you know? Weird.”

“Yeah,” Amy leaned forward, mouth scrumpled. _“Weird.”_

She reminded Louis of a cat. Always searching, always scowling, always pouncing at something. Louis couldn’t think of one single instance in which she’d been happy.

“Soooo,” Louis raised his eyebrows, and knocked on the desk. “Is that a yes? Am I good to, ya know- switch to another date or something?”

“Who’s the boy?”

Louis blinked, tilting his head. “Excuse me?”

“There’s always a boy when you skip work,” Amy spoke, eyebrows low. “Last time it was that Joe kid. What happened to him?”

“He- uh-” Louis was baffled she’d even remembered him. “He moved away.”

“Oh,” Amy scowled to herself- whenever she did that, Louis wanted to flatten out her frown with his fingertips. “I thought you guys had a thing.”

“We didn’t have a thing,” Louis rolled his eyes. “Don’t be silly. I used to watch him work out on Tuesday nights, and eventually he got transferred to some sports school or something.”

In all honesty, Louis wasn’t that sad about Joe leaving. He was more muscle than brain, after all, and they didn’t do a whole lot of talking. They made out next to the lockers after school once, which was nice. Louis missed his torso from time to time. And, oh God, those legs...

“I suppose that makes sense,” Amy tapped her acrylics on the wood. “So what is it this time?”

“Uh...I’m teaching someone how to play football,” Louis spoke, still not sure how he felt about it. When he’d proposed a deal to Harry, he hadn’t expected him to take up the offer...much less expect something of his own out of it. “And, before you give that look, no, I don’t want to bang him.”

Amy raised a brow. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m _sure,”_ Louis scowled deeply. “What sort of business do you think I’m running here?”

Amy shrugged, and went back to examining her nails. Her lack of explanation made Louis uneasy, but he pushed nonetheless.

“Can I have the afternoon off or not?”

Amy watched him for a moment, calculating. And then, she rolled her eyes, stepping back, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. “Fine.”

“Yes! Yes,” Louis held his hands in the air. “You’re a lifesaver.”

“Just make sure you’re in tomorrow,” Amy popped chewing gum in her mouth. “Frank’s coming in, and he doesn’t like me.”

Frank was a giant English Mastiff who’d taken quite the liking to Louis over his various stream of appointments. It was only in Louis’ arms, most days, that he’d sit down for his check ups at all. Amy had grown to dislike the dog over the months, but Louis would’ve downright died for him.

And Louis wouldn’t die for many things.

“Done deal,” he cheered, on his way out. “Hey. Don’t smile too much while I’m gone.”

“I’ll try,” Amy spoke, deadpan, and Louis couldn’t help but leave with a cackle.

-

Harry hated Wednesdays. They were always so groggy, and saddening, and dire...And today, he had the bonus anxiety of meeting Louis hanging over his head. Luckily, his parents didn’t seem to be paying much attention to him. He ate breakfast in the kitchen while they pottered around, tending to various mishaps that had occurred around the farm.

“The roof’s leaking again,” Michael muttered, mostly to herself. “I hate rain. And I hate havin’ to bleedin’ fix it.”

“It’ll be okay,” Suzanne said, but her voice was filled with forced optimism. “You don’t think it’s affecting the cows, do you? The weather?”

“Why would it be?” Michael looked up from where she squatted in the hallway, searching through a box of tools. “They live in England just the same as us. They know what rain feels like.”

“Still,” Suzanne crossed her arms. “Edmund’s being awfully antisocial, Mike. I’m worried about her.”

“Maybe we should,” Michael shrugged. “You know. Get _you-know-who_ on it.”

Suzanne looked down. “Maybe we should.”

Michael bit her lip, and then looked through the doorway to where Harry sat. “Oi! Chuck! You don’t mind checking on Edmund tonight, do you?”

Harry could barely hear her over his thoughts. He was trying, in vain, to think of a way out of meeting Louis after school. He could say he was sick...No, he could- he could say he was _busy_ , maybe? No, that wouldn’t work either, Louis had already seen his superspeed in action…

“Harry!”

He looked up, cereal trickling down his chin. “Yeah- I- uh-- what?”

“Your mother asked if can you check on Edmund tonight, please,” Suzanne stepped into the hallway, face crumpled with concern. “I’m worried about her.”

“Why?” Harry frowned. Edmund caused a lot of problems, sure- but it was never anything _that_ out of the ordinary.

“She’s being really grumpy, and you’re so close with her…Maybe you could... I don’t know.”

 _Do what?_ Harry thought, bitterly. _Laser her into interacting with you?_

“I can’t tonight,” he said, quickly.

“What? Why not?” Michael popped her head around the door.

Harry flushed, prodding at his cereal. “I...uh...I’m meeting with... a friend.”

He regretted the words as soon as he said them.

“Harry!” Suzanne’s face flushed with excitement, and within seconds, his parents were hounding him from either side, eyes alight and glee evident. “You have a- _friend?”_

“Yes!” Harry went bright red. “I- I mean- I think I do.”

“And?” Suzanne’s smile only increased. “Tell us about them!”

They were treating it as if it were too good to be true: as if they needed actual living proof that this friend truly existed. He didn’t blame them. Friends, or even mere _acquaintances_ in Harry’s life, were few and far between.

“It’s not that deep, mama,” Harry stood from the table, and put his bowl in the sink. “We’re just doing- a- um- homework project. After school.”

“At their house?” Suzanne’s smile began to fade.

“Uh,” Harry blinked- only just realising she would freak out big-time if she realised the real reason for his meeting with Louis- “I guess?”

“Well, I don’t see anything wrong with that,” Michael shrugged, and ruffled his hair. “As long as you let us know when you’re gunna be back, and don’t let your fans keep you too long.”

“My...” Harry readjusted his glasses. “...Fans?”

“Well, since you’re pretty much famous now, aren’t you?” Michael grinned, and Harry snorted, shaking his head. “Gosh. Our little baby’s out there having _friends_ , Suz.”

“Don’t act so surprised,” Harry said. He still felt jittery all over, like a group of ants were slowly making their way across his back.

“I wasn’t,” Michael smiled. “I’m just- pleased. You know?”

“Yeah,” Harry looked down. “I know. Listen- I’m already running late for-um, school. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay,” Suzanne smiled, and tucked her hair behind her ears. “Just- remember that you can always come home early if things go wrong. And don’t be afraid to say no to anything you don’t want to do, okay? I just- worry sometimes.”

“Hey. You don’t- you don’t have to,” Harry grabbed his coat and walked to the door. “I’ll be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?”

-

Louis wasn’t on the bus, which scared and relieved Harry all at once. Him being sick would’ve solved a lot of Harry’s problems. Not that he _wanted_ anyone to be sick, of course. He was just thinking...that perhaps it wouldn’t have been the worst thing in the world for Louis to be _absent_. Harry would’ve had more time to keep his secret a secret a little longer...But was that even what he wanted?

He hated it, but a tiny piece inside of him, a piece that had been there for a very, very long time, was desperate to tell someone. Desperate to show off, if only a little. Harry could not put in words how difficult it was to keep such a large part of himself hidden and suppressed for so long- maybe it had been fate Louis had been in the path of that truck.

Or...Maybe his anxiety was just creating excuses for his own insufficiencies as a human being.

Hell. He _wasn’t_ even a human being. He was just pretending to be one, and sucking tremendously at doing so. What was the point in even _trying?_

-

The day passed...Slowly. Almost painfully so. Nothing really happened in Harry’s classes, because he either knew the material already, or was too fidgety to put his hand up and ask for explanations. The only real highlight was when he saw Niall in the cafeteria, but he was on the other side of it, and too anxious to go up and say hi.

Fuck. Why would he even go and say hi? Did Niall not try to publish an invasive article about him the day before? Was Harry really _that_ desperate for friends?

Regardless, when the final bell rang, he was almost bursting with anticipation. He shot out of his class and quickly realised that Louis had not specified a meeting spot.

Which...was okay. He...Supposed.

Harry leaned against the lockers in what he hoped was a cool fashion as the rest of the school went home. He was wearing a deep navy sweater with rainbow octagons on it, which he quite liked. His hair hadn’t turned out to be a _complete_ disaster that morning, which he also liked.

He was waiting there some time. Which he hated.

Maybe Louis wasn’t going to show at all? Maybe he just...forgot?

Maybe Harry had made himself too _unfindable._ He cleared his throat and stood from the lockers, looking around. There wasn’t a person in sight...he must’ve been waiting at least twenty minutes. The hallways shone red and clear. And no matter how he strained, he could hear or see no sign of Louis…

He started to walk towards the exit when a strange, screeching noise sounded- not too dissimilar to that of chalk on a blackboard. He scowled as it grew in pace and sound, and the second before it grew too deafening for Harry’s ears, a very excited Louis appeared at the end of the corridor.

“Hi,” Louis called. As if his appearance was at all casual or to be expected.

He was on a skateboard, for one- its scraping wheels the reason why Harry’s ears felt as though they were on fire. His hair was wild in appearance, coming to a jagged flop above his right eyebrow, and he was wearing one t-shirt over the other: the one visible had _YUCK FOU_ written in cursive. Harry watched in equal measures of shock and confusion as Louis approached, a vivid smile growing on his face.

“Didn’t you hear me?” he asked, growing near. “I said hi.”

“I-I heard you,” Harry frowned to himself. “I just- don’t understand why you’re on a skateboard.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Louis came to a skidding stop beside him, and gave Harry’s jumper a disgruntled look. “Jesus. You look like some kind of reverse pizza.”

“Well, at least I’m not dripping,” Harry argued, and crossed his arms. “I mean- who even does that?”

Louis’ face looked incredibly vulnerable for a second, and his hands sank to cover the area from which his bag was slowly leaking. It was such a contrast to the cocky expression Louis had worn before that Harry instantly felt bad about saying it. He reached into his bag to find something with which to block it with, but Louis had already started walking.

“Hey,” Harry sped to catch up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

He leaned down with his glasses cloth to try and stop whatever was dripping from Louis’ backpack, but Louis just sighed and turned his back away.

“-Just leave it,” he shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t even know why I tried to _insult_ you with that,” Harry jumbled to explain. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Louis said. He looked rather uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny.

“Did- did your drink leak, or- or something?” Harry attempted. “I can- I can try and soak it up with something, if you-”

“-Trust me,” Louis bit. “It’s fine. Just- leave it, okay?”

“-Okay,” Harry stopped, reluctantly, and he held his cloth between his hands.

He wasn’t quite sure if it was unsettling or comforting that Louis was hiding something from him- that there was _something,_ finally, that could crack the unstoppable pride he always seemed to hide behind. For a few seconds, they walked down the hallway in complete silence, and Harry watched Louis wrestle with his doubts before pushing them behind nonchalance once more.

“Anyway,” he said, voice fuelled with false optimism. “I’m excited for today. Opening the Fort Knox of secrets that is Harry Styles.”

Harry still felt bad about the dripping thing. “The truth honestly isn’t that exciting.”

“Trust me, it is,” Louis grinned. “Maybe not for you. Maybe crushing steel is just on the list of things you do each day. I wouldn’t know.”

“This may come to a shock to you, but I actually spend most of my time doing completely normal things.”

“Like what?” Louis asked, and they pushed out of the school, the cold hitting Harry like a whip. “Come on, then. What does the mysterious Harry Styles get up to on the daily?”

Harry couldn’t tell if Louis actually cared, or if he was just trying to make Harry forget about whatever was dripping in his bag. But he supposed that in the end, it didn’t matter. If Louis had truly stopped the newspaper from going out about him, Harry supposed that he owed him at least a _little_ something in return.

“I stargaze,” he said, reluctantly. “I read. I write. I sleep. I help out with the animals from time to time-”

“-Wait,” Louis’ beam was made of pure glee- “You _really_ live on a farm? I thought Niall made that up.”

“I-” Harry shook his head. “Yes. I do truly live on a farm.”

“Holy shit!” Louis looked the happiest Harry had ever seen him- he turned around on the school steps to face him, shoulders bobbing in excitement. “So you have, like, chickens and cows and turkeys and shit?”

“We have cows,” Harry spoke, evenly. “We had to leave the rest behind in Cheshire.”

“Holy shit,” Louis blinked, to himself. “And they just, like, live with you? Like, in your house and shit?”

“The farmhouse is outside,” Harry failed to understand Louis’ unwarranted delight. “But we live next door. And there’s a doorway connecting the two, kind of like a tunnel? I can’t describe it.”

“I don’t think I’ve even seen a cow in real life,” Louis expressed, eyes wide. “Let alone thought about _living_ with them. Do they have names?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled. “Heathcliff, Angel, Edmund, Ursula.”

Louis’ face split with a grin. “Only after the _best_ literary villains of all time.”

“Yeah,” Harry shrugged, putting his hands in his pockets in what he hoped was a modest manner. “You noticed that?”

“Please,” Louis rolled his eyes. “What'd you keep the cows for, anyway?”

“Milk, mostly. It gets a little difficult at times with them there, but it’s mostly-” Harry frowned for a second, and looked around- “Wait. Where are we going?”

He had assumed that their conversation would’ve taken place somewhere inside of the school. But they had long left its bounds, and were now heading away from the main town and down a street that would eventually lead to the motorway.

Harry had learned the hard way that it was incredibly difficult to get in or out of Smallville. The place was, and felt, completely in the middle of nowhere. A thick barrier of trees hid it from the rest of Yorkshire from the West- and a small rocky beach cut off escape from the East. You could escape through the motorway, but you had to go through at least a square mile of forest first, and then a giant ring of countryside beyond that. Looking at it on Google Maps was like staring at a very green, incredibly tiny dartboard.

“Somewhere you can show me all of the _guns in your arsenal,”_ Louis spoke, and they continued to walk down the pavement. “I figured on the school field would be too risky. So we’re going somewhere a little more secluded.”

“How do you know my ‘guns’ will even work there?” Harry smirked to himself with satisfaction. “For all you know, my guns could be circumstantial.”

“Oh, please,” Louis stuck out his bottom lip. “They worked in a car park and on a tennis court. They don’t seem fucking circumstantial to me.”

The sky was grey above them, and the wind blew on. Louis’ bag had stopped dripping, but the bottom of it had become wet from whatever had been leaking in there. Since Louis had become occupied with his phone, Harry decided to look more closely at it. Using his X-ray vision felt like frowning, and flooded his eyesight into black and white. It was through this that the contents of Louis’ bag became apparent: a stick of deodorant, a few school books, his headphones, and right at the bottom- a very sodden football kit.

Harry scowled to himself: why would his kit be _wet?_ The idea of Louis being bullied made the most sense, considering his comment about _gay corner_ a few days prior- but it also felt inherently wrong. Not just from a moral perspective, but from a literal one...Louis just didn’t seem like the sort of person Harry thought _could_ be bullied. _Harry_ was the sort of person that could be bullied, not a confident, nonchalant, snappy guy like Louis…

“What about you?” Harry said, without even realising.

“Huh?” Louis looked up from his phone, mid-text. “What about me?”

“You know,” Harry shrunk into his shoulders. “What do you get up to on the daily? Or is terrorising randomers just a part of your everyday routine?”

Louis watched him for a second, lips parted. And then, his tiny eyes seemed to light with expression, and he broke into a smile.

“Louis Tomlinson spends most of his time watching tv,” he said, watching the road. “And writing.”

“About what?”

“Dunno,” Louis’ lips folded. “Reports, usually. Mostly on whatever I want. Sometimes it’s funny just to write one on me nan checking her emails.”

“And that’s…” Harry frowned, faintly. “...Fun?”

“Well, yeah,” Louis’ eyebrows sank, defensively, “describe _anything_ exaggeratedly and it’s fun. I wrote one the other day that was all about the next door neighbour mowing the lawn, but I didn’t put it that way. Instead, I talked about _the whir of the engine, the sweat dripping down his forehead in anticipation..._ And all of that crap. It’s good.”

Despite himself, Harry found himself beaming at Louis’ descriptions. The way he described things really was rather smart, when he thought about it.

“Besides that…” Louis tilted his head back, exposing a prominent Adam’s apple and an exceedingly sharp jaw. “I help out at an animal clinic and babysit, sometimes, which is probably the worst job for me in the world, because kids are just plain irritating…”

“Nooo,” Harry smiled, sunnily. “How could you think that? Kids are great.”

“You probably haven’t met Smallville kids,” Louis warned, but he was grinning a little too. “They just scream and shit and piss everywhere. S’annoying.”

“All things that normal humans do,” Harry conceded. “I mean, you were a kid once. You once screamed and shit and pissed. They can’t help it.”

“Debatable,” Louis smirked, deviously, and then came to a stop before a battered, rusty old warehouse. “We’re here.”

-

Louis hadn’t been to the place in years.

It used to be a storage facility for some down-and-out businessman, but as he’d moved out of town, and the place never quite got around to being demolished, a younger Louis had proclaimed it ample to be claimed as his own. He’d skateboarded around the place- constructing ramps from the battered crates; listened to music through the errant weeds; stared at the sunlight seeping through the gaps in the corrugated steel. He’d spent so many hours of his life there that Granny Viv thought he’d disappeared from the face of the Earth. It was always Louis’ quiet place, his secret space- and so he could think of no better place for anyone to reveal a secret.

If they could get in the door, that was. For a moment Louis pushed at the lock, hoping to high heaven that someone hadn’t boarded the place up. Or claimed it as a new gang den...Or something. When he looked back, Harry was stood staring at the place, face heavy with disgust.

“This-?” He asked, revolted. “This is the- place?”

“Yes,” Louis rolled his eyes. “Oh, come on. Farmboy never seen a warehouse before?”

“I’ve seen _many_ warehouses,” Harry argued, as Louis once more shoved at the lock. “I just prefer ones that aren’t falling to bits.”

“Are you gunna keep whining, or are you gunna help?” Louis wheezed. “If we don’t get this door open then we can’t-”

Harry placed his bare hands on the door and pushed, _hard_. It soon caved in, clattering hard upon the concrete inside.

Louis blinked at the space where the door used to be. “Whoa.”

Harry appeared uncomfortable. “It’s nothing.”

He stumbled inside, the weeds brushing past his thighs. Harry had long, gangly legs that buckled inwards slightly at the knees, and outwards again once they reached his ankles. If the weeds were thigh-high on him, there was no telling how tall they’d climb on Louis, who resented his lack of height just as much as he resented Harry’s abundance of it. He had to admit that Harry did look a little adorable, like that. With his stupid octagonal sweater on, and his incredibly curly hair, wisped up and all over the place. It painted a picture of a lost baby deer, bumbling in confusion until he reached some kind of stopping point. Louis hadn’t known Harry for long, but one thing he did know was that he didn’t have much direction in him.

“I haven’t been here for ages,” for a second Louis blinked in the dark. “The last time I hung out here, it wasn’t so…”

“Derelict? Ugly? Unsafe?” Harry laughed, weakly. “It’s a dump. I mean, it’s _nice-_ if that’s what you’re into.”

Louis snorted, hands on his hips. The place was a Godforsaken mess- glass scattered over the concrete, parts of the ceiling locked under moss. The clouds, fiercely grey above them, shone through the various holes in the walls and made light trickle upon Harry’s face. It was currently resting in a gentle smile- probably hoping, silently, that Louis had not been offended.

He kicked a brick beneath his Converse, and placed his bag beside a few discarded bottles to the left. “So. The truth.”

“The truth,” Harry gnawed on his bottom lip. He had rather feminine lips, ones that he often messed or played with when bundled in thought. They were a deep red in pigment, and way too large for his face. Some strange impulse made Louis want to prod them.

“Yes,” Louis sat on an empty crate, and balled his hands on his knees. “Start at the beginning. What can you do, exactly?”

Harry fumbled with his hands, seemingly weighing up the pros and cons of his current situation. Louis figured that there were way more pros than cons. He had kept up his side of the bargain, after all- throwing all two hundred of Niall’s printed articles into the recycling bin during his mid-morning break- and in doing so, saved Harry from the utter humiliation that accompanied the school newspaper and its various publications. Louis still hadn’t recovered socially from when Niall wrote one about him- and had refused to acknowledge its existence since.

“Well, I-” Harry bit his lip. “I can blast fire out of my eyes.”

In accordance to what Louis had already seen, this didn’t come as much of a surprise (which just proved how utterly fucking weird a week Louis had had so far).

“Okay,” Louis narrowed his eyes. “Care to demonstrate?”

“Really?” Harry raised his eyebrows.

“Well, unless you think I’m being too forward,” Louis held his hands in the air tilting his head. “But, in my defence, you have known me two days and already saved my life twice, not to mention-”

Harry took his glasses off, sighed, and then blasted a hole in the wall.

It happened so quickly that Louis could barely comprehend it. One second Harry was standing there, eyes a calm green, face as jumbled and jittery as it had always been- the next he wrinkled his nose, and a searing red laser shot from either eye, burning a gap into the wall in front of them. The heat was immediate, and Louis felt himself gape as a wave of it rushed over him. He wore so little clothes in winter that he’d almost forgotten what heat felt like.

“Holy shit,” Louis breathed, arm out. “Wait. Look at me. Look at me.”

Harry turned, mouth scrumpled, and there they were: a pair of eyes still slightly red in nature, but quickly dimming, ebbing until they returned to their original green glow. Louis reached out subconsciously to see if the air around him was still hot- and so it was. He emitted a breath, sitting back down, and wondering where this excitement had been all his life.

“So- so- rewind,” he blinked to himself. “How does that- how do- where do the lasers even come from?”

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugged, and put his glasses back on. “They just- come out.”

“Do the glasses stop them?” Louis couldn’t help but grin. “I mean, that would make sense, because they’re like, industrial-level thick, and I really-”

“-No,” Harry cut him off, blushing- “I just- I just need glasses.”

“Okay,” Louis grinned. “Is that it?”

“-Well, I’m really strong, obviously,” Harry put his arms behind his back. “And I can run faster than the speed of sound. Before you ask- no, I didn’t time it, or anything. I just- know.”

Louis laughed at the foreshadowing. “Alright. I’ll take your word for it, Mr High and Mighty. What else?”

Harry looked a little reluctant to disclose the rest. “I…I can hear a dog barking from ten miles away. I can see through solid objects, and sometimes, my breath turns to ice.”

“Wait wait wait wait wait,” Louis stood, hands up. “Expand on your whole.. _.Seeing through_ _solid objects_ thing.”

He suggestively looked Harry up and down, and Harry very rapidly went a bright, bright red.

“No- Louis- I- it’s not-” his speech dissipated as rapidly as it had arisen. “I’m not- that sort of- I-”

“What?” Louis bit his lip. “We’re teenagers. It’s totally natural.”

“I don’t use it for...That,” Harry hissed, eyes very low. He seemed very determined not to look at _anything_ following Louis’ words, which Louis personally found hilarious. “In fact, I don’t use it for anything much.”

“Fair enough,” Louis sat back down. “It’s a small town. Thought I may as well ask.”

“Why?”

“Well, you know,” Louis giggled to himself. “S’pretty hard to find any men around here, let alone any ones that aren’t-”

“-Okay,” Harry interrupted, adjusting his glasses. “Let’s just- let’s just-”

Louis burst in a laugh, unable to believe how completely and utterly flustered this guy got under pressure. “I’m just joking, you know.”

“Yeah,” Harry glowered. “I know. I’m just- it’s-”

He bit on his lip so hard that Louis thought it may have burst. To save him, he sat up, and decided to change the subject. “So. Ice breath, laser eyes, superstrength, superspeed, superhearing, supersight...Sounds like a lot of _super_ in there.”

“I can fly, too,” Harry added- almost as an afterthought.

Louis shot upright, teasing long forgotten, the humour leaving his face. _“What?”_

“I..can fly,” Harry shrunk into his shoulders. “Not much. And it doesn’t work all of the time. But sometimes I just- I don’t know. I float.”

“I- are you serious?” Louis gaped. “Because if you’re serious, that’s seriously, like-”

His speech tailored off, for Harry had closed his eyes in concentration. A second passed, and then Harry’s feet lifted from the floor, and he was hovering a metre above Louis, his hair flopping over his forehead, and a large gap between them. Louis spluttered in a laugh, and then, put his hands in his hair. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t find words. A kid in his class- some random, new kid- was in front of him right now- _floating._ A kid with fucking glasses and geeky hair and oversized jeans and Jesus Christ Louis couldn’t breathe--

“Oh my God,” Louis breathed, hands on his face. “Oh my fucking God.”

Harry’s face broke into a genuine, delighted smile at Louis’ reaction- the likes of which Louis had never seen on him.

“It’s not that good,” he mumbled, still smiling. Louis noticed in that moment how well and truly dimply Harry was, and it was a fact that he wouldn’t forget for the rest of his life.

“It’s not that good-?” Louis repeated, and he finally began to walk around Harry, eyes unmoving from his feet. “Jesus, it’s the best fucking thing I’ve ever fucking bloody seen, even if you are a bit of a nerd.”

He held out his hand beneath Harry’s feet, almost to test if they were really floating. But there was nothing in between the ground and the soles of Harry’s shoes- _God-_ it had to be real...

“Can you do other shit?” Louis asked, looking up. “Like, loop-the-loop and shit?”

“I- I can’t say I’ve tried,” Harry admitted. His cheeks were flushed pink from the attention. “But I can go higher.”

He looked up in concentration, and then seemed to effortlessly glide upwards, his hair flopping over his forehead as he neared the warehouse ceiling. Louis watched in pure awe as Harry reached the top, retrieved a screw from one of the derelict pipes there, and then landed, swiftly in front of him.

“Here,” Harry said, holding it out.

Louis could barely steady his hand enough to retrieve it, but he somehow managed. The screw was rusty, old, and orange in Louis’ palm- but it was proof, proof that _all_ of this had happened...And Louis couldn’t stop gaping.

“Are...Are you alright?” Harry’s face fell with concern.

“This is…” Louis shook his head. “This is.. _.fucking_ …”

He put his hands on his head and walked in circles. Harry seemed to determine that Louis’ predicament wasn’t one that warranted genuine concern, but instead was one of pure and utter disbelief, because his scowl dissipated, and he instead began to giggle.

“I can’t believe you’re sat there _laughing_ at me,” Louis said, scrunching his hair, “I mean- you can fly! You can really fucking fly!”

Harry shrugged and sat down on a crate opposite, hands hanging between his knees. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”

“Why don’t you do that all of the time? Like, fly and shit? Dude! You could be famous! You could- I don’t know, make so much from this, and like-” Louis began rambling, partly out of shock and partly out of pure, unstoppable, excitement. “It’s like something out of a comic I read! It’s just amazing! It’s just...”

Harry shook his head and blushed into his own shoulder, cheek squished against the fabric. His smile seemed to be fighting the rest of his face without permission, and he seemed a mixture of shy, embarrassed, and incredibly giddy.

Louis trailed off, catching himself. Jeez- he didn’t want to be that emotional in front of the new kid, now, did he? “I mean- what I mean is- it’s okay. _Obviously._ Just- another day in the life.”

Harry’s mouth parted slightly, and his eyes became so soft that it became apparent that Louis had touched something in him. He bit his lip, suddenly emotional, and looked away, cheeks flushed. There was a look of shame in his eyes, and some hidden nerve shook the scarlet of his lips and left them trembling.

“It’s stupid, but...I’ve never really told anyone before,” Harry fumbled with his hands in his lap. “I never expected anyone to see it in- whatever way you have.”

“Well, I mean- your parents know, right?” Louis pressed. “Your friends?”

“Of _course_ my parents know,” Harry looked skittish, “and. Well. I don’t really have any friends, so that’s never been a problem.”

He seemed to realise the depth of his words and falsely laughed it off- but the damage was already done. Louis’ eyebrows fell, and he was filled with an engulfing sense of sadness.

 _Everyone_ had friends. He was the most awful person he knew and even he had Niall and Liam to help him out. The idea of Harry being completely, utterly alone made him so angry that he felt as though he couldn't speak. Harry didn’t try to mend the silence, though, so Louis decided to let it sit between them, and moved a little closer to Harry to prove his point. There was one question that had been burning in the back of his mind all day; it was then that he set it free.

“Do you know how you have these powers?”

“I- um…” Harry’s face seemed to melt. “It’s complicated.”

He seemed to sit still for a moment in thought, pink lips coming to a pout, an absent-minded hand rising to tuck a curl behind his ear, and then, push the glasses further up his nose. Just looking at him, you would never be able to tell that he could do the things he did. Louis still had a hard time believing any of it- that the boy really could fly, or shoot lasers, or move steel like it was putty.

That the human body was even capable of that shit in the first place.

Harry seemed to be having a silent battle with himself, deciding how much to tell Louis and how much to keep a secret. When he spoke again, he did so slowly, as though carefully weighing the meaning of each word in his head.

“I’ve always had them,” he gestured. “The powers, I mean. Ever since I was born. When you can do stuff like I can...It’s not something you can just tell anyone, you know? So my parents never sought help about it. I don’t really know why I have them, or why it has to be me. It just is the way it is.”

“Why did you tell me, then?” Louis grinned. “Why did you show me all this? Do you have some _super-memory wiper_ I don’t know about?”

He was joking, but Harry looked deadly solemn as he turned to face Louis. He seemed a little embarrassed, even. “I guess I just...I don’t know. I’ve always wanted to tell someone.”

Louis must’ve appeared sceptical at that, because Harry’s eyebrows lowered in confusion.

“Haven’t you had something about yourself that you’ve just been dying to let out? That you’re sick of holding in?”

“Yes,” Louis spoke, a little deflated. “I have. All my life.”

He watched the realisation dawn on Harry’s face, and turned away, disgusted with himself. Harry barely knew the half of it. He didn’t know what it was like living here- not really. Louis managed to deal with most of it, but there were just some things...just some _people_ in Smallville that were capable of so many horrible things. Louis wasn’t sure he could be strong all of the time, not when the world just didn’t- stop.

“I’m sorry,” Harry bit his lip. “I- I didn’t realise.”

Louis shrugged and played with his hands. “It is what it is.”

“But you shouldn’t have to deal with it. With _them,_ I mean. The way they treat you for being gay, it’s just-”

“-It’s fine,” Louis put on a fake smile. “It doesn’t bother me. Let’s just talk about, I dunno, your ice breath some more, yeah?”

But Harry’s face remained cold, and his eyes remained glued to the floor. He seemed incredibly guilty, and it was making Louis nervous. He needed to stop this trainwreck- and quickly. _This was why,_ he reminded himself, bitterly, _he didn’t talk to new people..._

“Have you talked to someone about it?” Harry continued. “The bullying, and stuff?”

Louis couldn’t help but feel defensive; unused to being the one analysed for once. “I said drop it, Farmboy. I’m fine.”

“I just want to let you know that- I-” Harry’s lips began to shake- “I don’t agree with them, and if you need someone to look after your things while you practise or-”

“-Jesus Christ!” Louis snapped. “I said drop it!”

Harry stepped back in horror, mouth still trembling. Louis hated himself and hated _everything_ and needed to leave- he shouldn’t have brought it up.

Hell, he shouldn’t have brought _any_ of it up. God. Stupid boy with his stupid nerdy face and stupid fucking glasses...why did Louis agree to take him here in the first place?

“I- I’m just gunna go,” he spoke, rapidly picking up his things. “I’m just gunna go and- think this all over. I think I’m still in shock about the whole _superbreath_ thing, and the flying thing, and the superstrength, and the eye lasers, and…”

“Louis,” Harry reached out. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted to help.”

“-No,” Louis held up a finger. “Let’s just _not_ , okay? I don’t need your pity and I just- I just need you to stop, okay? Because if you pity me- you’re just like them. It doesn’t matter how weird you are. It never changes. There’s always someone on the bottom, and I’m tired of it being me. I’m _tired_ , okay?”

He sipped in a sharp breath and fought the sob in his throat. Harry just looked horrified, and whether it was at Louis’ words or his own, it was hard to tell.

“I just- I just need to go,” Louis mumbled. “I’ll call you or something.”

He hung his wet bag on his back, and rushed out of the warehouse before any more upset could be caused.

-

Louis cried on his way out. Harry could tell, because he could smell his tears and hear his sobs and the increased pace of the shuffles as he ran so that nobody could see him. He could still hear his words, because they rang in Harry’s ears and refused to stop doing little circles around his head.

He really thought that Harry... was like _them_. Like the assholes who put his clothes down the toilet every lunch break (Harry could still smell the chlorine), and like the dickheads who refused to get changed in the same room as him. That’s how badly Harry had fucked it up. He wasn’t even straight, for fuck’s sake- but how could he possibly explain that to Louis?

_I’m sorry you thought I was homophobic, mate. I just don’t talk about my sexuality because it’s not exactly like I’m ever gunna have a relationship, is it? I mean, nobody’s gunna love someone who could accidentally eye-laser them to death one day. So the fact that I’m not straight doesn’t really matter in the scheme of things, as regardless of what I feel, nothing’s ever gunna happen..._

The truth was that he _couldn’t_ explain it. Goddamnit. Why did he always have to do this?

Why couldn’t he just leave something alone for one damn second?

He made it back home with tears in his eyes. For one fucking second- he really thought he could’ve had a friend. He was just kidding himself, he supposed. Three days weren’t enough for a friendship, but how would he have known? He thought that maybe, after he’d shared such a large part of himself, that Louis would’ve understood that he meant no harm by what he said.

God- he just wanted to help.

“How’d it go?” Suzanne asked, and as soon as she saw Harry’s face, she understood. “Oh, baby…”

She engulfed him in a hug, and he just dropped his bag on the floor, disheartened.

“I just mess everything up,” he said.

“Nooo,” she leaned back, and held either side of his face. “No you don’t. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“There is,” Harry whined, looking down. “Don’t you understand? Lasers shoot from my eyes. I’ve never had a friend. The closest I ever got to one now thinks I hate him.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t,” Suzanne squeezed his forearms. “Honey, these things take time. If he’s really your friend then he’ll step up and realise he was wrong.”

“You said that when nobody came to my birthday party when I was eight. And when nobody asked me to Prom at sixteen,” Harry felt himself beginning to cry. “You know, mama, I’m pretty damn tired of waiting for people to step up.”

He picked up his bag and walked to his room. He had to be the problem...There was no other explanation for it.

No matter what he did, he would always be alone.

-

Harry didn’t talk to Louis for the next week or so. Which was weird, because by Thursday morning Louis had pretty much gotten over...whatever his initial meltdown was. He was still nervous about the truck thing, for starters, and then there were the superpowers and the clothes...Louis was bound to assume the worst and fuck it all up.

It was what he always did.

The way Louis saw it, Harry had just seemed like he was feeling sorry for Louis in that warehouse. And Louis hated pity just as much as he hated help, because both notions made him feel small and pathetic - like Voldemort, when he was that weird goopy baby thing and nobody really wanted anything to do with him. The truth was, Louis felt like that all of the time anyway. He was just scared to admit it.

He was _equally_ as scared of someone seeing the real him and exploiting it to the world. Because, the truth was...he hated the real him most of the time. The real him was petty and scared and desperate to feel a connection with someone. Problem was, he could never _do_ that, because actually doing that meant showing the world how imperfect he was.

Point in case: Harry fucking Styles.

At first Louis was angry about it, and then...then he just felt _sad_. It felt wrong to see somebody every day and not talk to them. Even if he was weird. ( _Jesus,_ was Harry weird. Today he was dressed in a bright red hoodie with music notes all over it...where the _fuck_ did he even find this stuff?) But Louis didn’t care, because he couldn’t get the sight of Harry burning holes in the warehouse wall out of his head, and the journalist side of him was begging desperately to be let loose...

It was safe to say that the ride home couldn’t go fast enough. Louis couldn’t wait to get away from Harry, away from everybody. Because if he didn’t-- he would crack. Louis wasn’t sure how much more he could take of the weird-ass routine in which he’d found himself.

It started with Harry being deathly silent, sending Louis a few longing, guilty glances on the bus. Then, it spread to sports and English Lit, in which the silence became unbearable. And then, when this continued for a goddamn week, it started affecting Louis’ mood so much that even _Niall_ picked up on it.

And Niall barely picked up on anything.

“What’s up with you?” He’d asked, in the cafeteria. It was a Monday, one full godforsaken week into the shamed silence, and Louis was at his wit’s end.

He’d been solemnly watching Harry try (and fail) to get a seat on the other side of the room for all of lunch break. He was like a disaster simply waiting to happen, and Louis still couldn’t believe that the same boy uttering apologies to every person he scarcely touched in the lunch hall was the same one able to fly. He hadn’t stopped thinking about that day, about Harry’s powers...And the fact that he had an unexplainable, random urge to protect Harry from the world.

“You know when you find out something about someone, and you can’t stop thinking about it?” Louis leaned on his hand.

Niall scrunched up his nose in confusion. “Is this about the news article? Are you still mad about it? Cos I honestly didn’t think that anyone would-”

“-No,” Louis scowled at him. “It’s not that. Why the _fuck_ would it be that?”

“I dunno,” Niall stuck out a bottom lip. “You hold grudges like nobody else I know, man. Remember that time in Year Three where you didn’t talk to me for a month because I said Liam was my best friend over you?”

“It hurt,” Louis argued, and beside them, Liam broke into a soft chuckle.

“What can I say?” he grinned, lifting a pair of very thick eyebrows. “The truth hurts sometimes.”

“Fuck you,” Louis said, and shoved him.

Both Liam and Niall broke into a cackle, endlessly enjoying Louis’ pain. Louis rolled his eyes and leaned forwards.

“I’m not annoyed about the news article,” he tried to explain. “I just- you know when you get into some weird rut with someone and you’re not sure why? Or how to get out of it?”

“You’ve gotta break the cycle, man,” Niall said, wisely, and slid on a pair of sunglasses.

“Oh,” Louis raised his eyebrows in sarcastic fashion. “Thanks. Means a lot.”

“I hate to admit it, but he’s right,” Liam grimaced, “what I think he means is- if you’re annoyed about how things are going, and the other person won’t change things, you have to change them yourself.”

Niall broke into a slow grin. “Did you read that in the Agony Aunt section?”

 _“Where_ I read it,” Liam spoke over him. “Is irrelevant. The advice stands.”

“It is good advice,” Niall conceded, blowing out his cheeks. “I suppose you’re not gunna tell us who it’s about, though.”

That much was true. Louis considered this hours later, just a few seats away from Harry. He hated himself for not being able to look away from Harry’s dumb red sweater; grew angry at the guilt those chestnut curls now symbolised.

Fuck.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

When the bus went past his stop, he stayed on, and when the seat beside Harry cleared, he sat in it.

“Hey,” he said, serious-face on. “We need to talk.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

4: all of the loud places

Harry thought he’d been doing quite a good job of not fucking up things for the past week. Sure, he’d been lonely, but he’d been lonely most of his life. He’d tried, and failed, to see staying away from Louis as some big solution for everything. In his mind, he had drawn up the following points:

  1. When you’d never had a real friend before, it was impossible to tell where certain boundaries lay. Hence, if Louis kept talking to Harry, sooner or later, Harry was bound to get over-excited at the fact that he had achieved some semblance of friendship, and overshare.
  2. Oversharing, or over _blurting_ in Harry’s case, nearly always led to disaster. See for reference: the warehouse incident.
  3. Harry was a really shitty friend. That was a fact he knew already- there didn’t need to be any backing-up evidence. He made a stupid mess everywhere he went, and if his immense social incapabilities weren’t a damning factor in the first place, the fact that he was literally an _alien_ definitely would be.
  4. At some point, Louis would get freaked out and leave. It didn’t matter when- there had to be a line that he wouldn’t cross. When he found out Harry could hear his heartbeat, for example. Or that, when Harry went to sleep, he’d often wake up floating somewhere above the farm, duvet still wrapped around his legs. He’d never be able to do the normal things normal people did- so what was the point in pretending?
  5. If Harry managed to convince Louis that he was a total and complete jerk, maybe Louis’ endless and various curiosities regarding him would just...die altogether? It was a hopeless idea, but in the week that passed, Harry thought it might have actually worked.



And then, on the eighth day of their shared silence, Louis plonked beside Harry on the bus, eyes bright and gaze unyielding. He might as well’ve sat Harry’s plan on fire.

“We need to talk,” Louis said.

A thousand thoughts filled Harry’s mind at once. Talk? About _what?_ Had he told someone? Was he _going_ to tell someone? Was he going to _yell_ at him? There were so many ways the conversation could have gone that Harry didn’t know what to say. And so he just gaped at Louis, staring into those beady little eyes, feeling his heart race and his mind cloud.

When it became evident Harry was not going to reply, Louis sucked in a big breath, and tugged on the collar of his denim jacket in nerves.

“Well,” he began. “What I basically wanted to say was- I’ve been thinking about the thing.”

“The thing,” Harry repeated, mouth wide. He felt pinned in an expression of horror.

“You know,” Louis rolled his eyes, and sat back in his seat. “Don’t make me spell it out. I’ve just been thinking about what you did, and I just- I’ve got tons of ideas of what you could do with them, alright? I wouldn’t exactly call them Nobel Peace Prize level-”

“-Louis,” Harry failed to follow, and quite frankly, was failing to string together a coherent thought at that point. “Slow down. Please.”

“Fine. I’m saying-” Louis sipped in a breath. “I’m saying that I might _possibly_ be sorry. For jumping the gun last week. And that this silence is stupid, man. I can’t stand watching you walk around alone. You should have friends here. Okay, so maybe not me. But like...I don’t know. I just got used to assuming that everyone pities me all of the time, and I thought on it and realised you were probably just being nice, in that muddled old way of yours. And I just- I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. No- not in that way. I just- you know when you see something so amazing it’s just like, stuck in your head? Like, _Lady Gaga Super Bowl starstruck._ That was what it was like. It’s what it’s _been_ like. And you can ignore me all you like and I won’t tell a soul, but I just- I guess I just wanted to say I have ideas. Is all.”

He closed his mouth in satisfaction and then blinked at Harry, as if expecting an answer at once. In all truthfulness, Harry didn’t think he could process that many _words_ at once. He sat staring at the ground for a moment, letting it all sink in, and then clasped his hands in his lap.

“Okay,” was all that left his mouth.

A light hit Louis’ face, and then, he was smiling. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry bit his lip. “Sorry. I just thought that you wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore, so I just...didn’t. I sort of made a mess back there.”

“Yeah,” Louis frowned to himself. “It’s stupid, but...I get it.”

He fumbled with his collar for a moment, somewhere between uncomfortable and lost in thought. He was wearing a vest top, of all things- one that very poorly concealed the goosebumps atop his chest and neck- and a beanie stuffed upon his waves. The inside of his denim jacket was padded, and the jeans on his legs were cuffed, with patches residing on each knee. The combination of items confused Harry. Did Louis wish to be warm, or cold?

“Sorry,” Harry added. He grew acutely aware that he had been staring for too long at Louis’ varying scruples.

“It’s okay,” Louis frowned even further. “I’ve learned in life that some people are just fucking weird. You, Farmboy, are just one of those people.”

In which time they usually gave up and never spoke to Harry again, but that was...another matter entirely. At that moment, all he could think about was meeting eyes with Louis, and those little, promising sparks of friendship wandering between them. Harry hoped he didn’t make up the flash of glee in Louis’ gaze, hiding somewhere between the sapphire and slate. A little flutter within his stomach somehow told him that he hadn’t.

“What gave you that impression?” Harry sighed to himself. “The flying or the laser eyes?”

“I think it was the ice breath that did me in, to be honest,” Louis smirked, and Harry allowed himself to smirk in return. It felt good, smirking. It felt as though Harry for once knew what was going on in his life.

(He didn’t.)

“Anyway,” Louis nodded to himself. “There’s that. And I know I still owe you that stupid football lesson, so if you ever want to catch me up on that...we could meet up sometime, or something.”

He moved to stand up, but Harry’s hand darted up to stop him. He found himself holding the sleeve of Louis’ denim jacket, and was just as surprised at that as Louis was.

“You said you had ideas about something,” Harry said, and he wasn’t quite sure why. He let go of Louis, and tried to eliminate any spontaneous thoughts of holding his hand.

“Yeah,” Louis shrugged. “I mean, they’re not exactly Einstein-levels of genius, but-”

“-Do you want to come over?” Harry blurted, and it was a fumble of words so awkward that he instantly regretted them.

Shock hit Louis’ expression first, and for a second, he seemed unsure of what to think. His little arched eyebrows raised, his red lips parted, and his pointed chin’s stubble glistened slightly in the sunlight. The bus continued on.

“Come...Over?”

“Y-yeah,” Harry hunched his shoulders up. “Like, to my house. For dinner. I mean, you don’t have to, obviously, I’m just thinking because the bus has already passed your stop, and like-”

A grin grew, unstoppable, upon Louis’ face; it split his shock in half. “You memorised where my _stop_ is?”

“It was an integral part of avoiding you,” Harry explained, and then cringed once more at himself, _“Shit_. Why did I even say that?”

Harry was all ready to apologise, but Louis broke out in a loud cackle instead. “Because you’re a ruthless heartless _monster_ , obviously.”

“I just- I don’t even know why my brain thought it was a good idea- to-” Harry put his face in his hands, and Louis just carried on laughing.

“Listen here, Farmboy,” he offered, poking Harry’s shoulder. “If you want, I’ll make you a deal.”

“Okay,” Harry looked up.

“If you promise to take me flying sometime, I’ll come to your house and have dinner,” Louis bargained. “And show you my awesome-ass ideas.”

“Take you--” Harry’s face wrinkled a little- “Flying?”

“Yeah,” Louis almost looked embarrassed. “You know. Just a _two inches off the ground_ kinda job. Not asking you to take me on holiday or anything.”

“Again, this sounds like a deal in which you get more than me,” Harry’s smile grew in response- he couldn’t fucking help it. He still couldn’t believe that Louis was still even _here._

“Alright, fine,” Louis cocked his head. “What more do you want, Cyclops?”

“What?” Harry frowned at the nickname- “A...giant with one eye?”

“No!” Louis spluttered. “It’s a- it’s like, a comic character, a superhero, who has like, laser eyes, and he- Never mind.”

Harry fought his confusion, and grinned anyway. “I’d like you to come meet my cows.”

Louis gaped, and the brightest smile dawned upon his face. It was elated, it was one of pure, raw happiness- and mostly one that couldn’t seem to fathom that Harry was real.

“Really? _That’s_ what you want?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled to himself. “I think they’d like you. They seem to have a taste for people of the space-invading, intrusive, and incredibly loud variety.”

“I’m flattered,” Louis did a little bow. “All I can say is that I’m glad I’m not a person of the plaid wearing, backward-footed, and incredibly suspicious variety.”

“Good,” Harry itched his arm. “Cos that’d mean we’d be soulmates. And God knows I don’t want to spend any more time with you than I have to.”

Louis broke out into a grin and slapped Harry’s arm, looked guilty for a moment, and reverted to confusion. “Things like that don’t hurt you, do they?”

“Not really,” Harry shrugged. “But if you want I could pretend?”

“Now that would just be _mean_ ,” Louis rolled his eyes, and leaned back in the bus seat with aggressively poor posture. “You could at least give my clearly superior muscles some credit.”

“I- I’m sorry if I offended them,” Harry bit. “Shall I start calling you Vin Diesel from now on, then?”

“I much prefer ‘The Rock’,” Louis proclaimed, with a big fat grin. “How long until we reach the farm?”

Harry arched his neck. “A...few more stops. Why?”

“Nothing,” Louis sat back in his seat. “I just can’t wait to see the lil’ farmboy in his element.”

-

Louis thought Niall’s article was lying when it said that Harry lived in the middle of nowhere. But, as they left the bus and walked straight into what seemed like wild grassland, he was starting to realise it was anything _but._

A few metres left of them lay the _‘You are now leaving Smallville!’_ sign, and a few metres right lay the mainroad from which they had originated. It was a weird place for a farm- but then again, Louis knew just as little about farms as he did everything else. Another fact about Harry’s house was that it was quite possibly the most humble building Louis had ever seen.

It was a quiet, pale yellow, with its walls made of mismatched brick and mortar, and five tiny white windows which settled around the main wooden door in symmetrical fashion. There were two chimneys which sat upon either side of the roof, and attached to the house were multiple extensions, none of which matched the original style or appearance of the home.

Louis squinted as he saw it, which Harry must’ve interpreted as a bad response, as he stumbled feebly at the gate.

“It’s- not much, I know,” he rambled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “You don’t have to like it. It’s just all we could afford, and-”

“Harry,” Louis turned to him, one hand on the fence. “It’s fine.”

Jesus, this guy was quick to jump the gun. Or maybe just...overly nervous. At Louis’ words a newfound light fell upon Harry, and he was quick to give Louis a quick rundown on what seemed to be his favourite place in the world. Suddenly, the Farmboy with X-Ray eyes didn’t seem so suspicious...

“There’s a storage bit at the back, which is why it sticks out a little. Beyond and in front of that, here, are the fields for where we hope sheep will go one day. To the left is where we keep the cows, and they’re really cool because…”

That was another thing about the house- Harry seemed incredibly, incredibly excited at the prospect of sharing it with someone. He was genuinely happy there, Louis could tel, and it was so strange to see his pink little face light up with smiles, grow sharp with confidence, and even smirk a little in satisfaction of how much he knew. It was, Louis sensed, not an emotion Harry got to experience regularly. And he wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that.

“Seems like you’ve got a really nice place here, Farmboy,” Louis spoke, after Harry had shown him around the chicken coop and fields. He stuck his hands in his pockets, admittedly feeling the cold.

The sunlight was gentle and false in the heat it was meant to bring, and had so far only succeeded in melting the very top layer of ice cast upon the fields, and painting the top curls upon Harry’s head in a fierce, emboldened amber. He really did have pretty hair, and Louis longed to scoop his hands into it for reasons he didn’t quite know how to articulate.

“Thanks,” Harry rubbed his face along his shoulder. “I mean, it’s not as good as where we used to live, but-”

He suddenly turned to Louis, face crumpling in concern.

“Let’s go inside,” he said, quickly.

“What?” It was Louis’ turn to frown as Harry tugged him towards the main part of the house, feet crackling on the ice. “Why?”

“I can see the goosebumps all over you,” Harry stressed, disapproving. “It’s like you’ve got Chicken Pox, Louis.”

“-I-” Louis attested, crossing his arms. “I’m not cold.”

Harry stopped as they reached the front door. “Do you want my coat?”

Louis appreciated the sentiment, but couldn’t help eye up the monstrosity of a bright red parka under Harry’s arm and shrink in fear. “Hah. God _forbid_.”

“I don’t know why you just don’t wear more clothes,” Harry stuck out a lip, and opened the door. “It’s ridiculous. It’s not a sin to accept that it’s not summer, you know?”

They stepped in, and for a moment, Louis just gaped- completely overwhelmed by both the rush of warmth and the sight in front of him. The floors were wooden and polished, and there was a patchwork quilt trailing from the top to the bottom of the stairs, and reaching an end at the doormat beneath Louis’ feet. On the walls lay portraits of every variety- most of them containing a beaming couple. One, however, stood out to Louis the most. He couldn’t help but approach it, face involuntarily breaking in a smile.

“This you?” he asked, fingers ghosting along the frame.

In the photo sat the cutest kid Louis had ever seen. He was about five or six, and clutching a massive sunflower to his chest in an expression of pure glee. There was a massive smile on his face - one that seemed to split it, even - and his ears stood out behind an unruly mop of gigantic curls.

“I’m ashamed to say it is,” Harry mumbled, but he was smiling. “My fashion sense... Wasn’t the best.”

Louis snorted at that. Tiny Harry was wearing what seemed to be basketball attire at least five sizes too big, and the trousers trailed along the floor. Weirdly enough, it only made the image cuter in Louis’ eyes.

“You say that like you’re on _Gucci_ levels now,” he smirked, and Harry threw the Parka his way in disgust.

“I’ll have you know I _love_ my attire,” he beamed, unable to help himself- taking his shoes off in the hallway. “Ugly jumpers and all.”

Louis looked once more in distaste at the atrocious music-note-stamped ketchup coloured... _thing_...in which Harry had decided to dress himself. It didn’t even fit him, for fuck’s sake. Did he buy clothes two sizes too big for a reason?

“Ah, well, I can stomach the jumpers,” Louis bit, holding up the Parka-  “It’s just this fucking thing that really gets on my-”

“-Harry?” A voice said, and then, a short ginger woman strolled in the hallway. She was wiping her hands in a dishcloth, and her eyes and entire expression changed once she noticed Louis standing there too. “Oh-!”

“Mama! Hi,” Harry rushed, glee being replaced with that same, childish giddiness. “This is Louis. I was gunna ask if he could stay for dinner.”

“Oh!” the woman spoke, even more excited. “Oh! Hello! I’m- I’m Suzanne, Harry’s mother.”

She rushedly held out a hand to Louis, and then realised that it was dirty- tucking it back into her pocket in unhidable shame.

“I’m terribly sorry,” she gushed. “I’ve just been out there fixing the tractor- when the ice is out, all of the gears get jammed, and I really couldn’t leave it that way. Hence, oily hands.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Louis smiled. “It’s-uh- very nice to meet you.”

“Oh, you too!” Suzanne laughed nervously on the spot. It was easy to see where Harry’s nerves came from- even their frantic habits seemed to align as Suzanne wrangled the dishcloth in her hands. “It’s always nice to have people over. Are you doing some kind of project?”

“Yeah,” Harry spoke, quickly, itching at the back of his head. “Yeah. It’s just this- uh- it’s just this thing.”

...He didn’t elaborate.

“Alright,” Suzanne bit her lip. “Sounds- well! It sounds exciting!”

“It is,” Harry looked more than eager to escape the situation, and so, he began to climb the stairs, bag trailing in his hand. “We’ll see you at dinner, if that’s...if that’s okay?”

“Oh, yes!” Suzanne tucked her hair behind her ears. “Dinner!”

She seemed to hiss under her breath and was gone in an instant, humming loudly to alleviate her nerves. Louis watched her leave, and then beamed at Harry from where he stood on the stairs, unable to believe his eyes.

“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, already beginning to smile. “She’s- well. She’s something.”

“Let’s just say I can tell where you got your _Harryness_ from,” Louis laughed to himself, and followed him up the stairs.

“Harryness?”

With his back turned, Harry looked like a whole different person. He looked like he could’ve been an athlete in another life, with his rounded, large shoulders, and legs that went on for miles. It was only then that Louis began to fathom that Harry probably had the greatest body in the world. It was hard to tell, under all of the baggy things he wore...But Louis knew.

He always knew.

“Yeah, you know,” Louis smiled as he climbed the stairs. “The essential act of being...whatever the _fuck_ it is you are.”

Harry laughed at that. Louis wasn’t quite sure what he would’ve said the exact definition of _Harryness_ was: the act of being extremely skittish? Awkward? Clumsy? Unlucky? _Superhuman? -_ but luckily, before he could respond, Harry opened the closest door to them on the landing, and he was thrust into sudden darkness.

“Well, I guess we’re here,” Harry fumbled, voice wracked with nerves. “My- uh- room. Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Laugh?” Louis smirked. “Why would I-”

He trailed off, for Harry had turned on the light and it took a second of looking around for Louis to completely fall in love with the place. Harry had...the most adorable room he’d ever fucking seen.

The walls were a deep navy and many boxes lay scattered around the place, still unpacked. However, Harry’s personality and general... _Harryness_...had already begun to leak out over the walls and floor in posters, miscellaneous post-it notes, and a long line of shelves which were overbearingly filled with books. The bed was purple, none of the furniture matched, and there was a box filled with mugs residing just left of the dresser, which Louis couldn’t help but approach.

Above them was a mangled set of fairy lights, half working, and to the left was a wall almost dedicated completely to the stars. Diagrams of the night sky, images of rockets, and hand-drawn doodles of star systems Louis didn’t even know existed lined the walls. He ghosted his fingers upon them, beyond fascinated.

“You did these...yourself?” He asked, turning around.

Harry had gone bright red: evidently, Louis was not meant to have noticed those. He stood one foot on top of the other (clad in unmatching striped socks) and held his breath.

“It’s not real,” he rushed to explain. “Just stuff that came to my head.”

“They’re really good,” Louis breathed.

He moved on to the box of mugs, and picked out one at random. It was a small, delicate thing, with the words _CAREFUL, OR YOU’LL END UP IN MY NEXT NOVEL_ printed on the side. Louis smiled at that.

“Writer?” he asked, holding it up.

“Trying to be,” Harry offered, itching his hair. “Mostly...uh, screenwriting.”

“You should try reporting sometime,” Louis put the mug back. “The school newspaper’s always looking for members.”

“Well,” Harry laughed (weakly, fakely, and without much enthusiasm). “I can’t say it’s left the best impression on me so far.”

“Ah, well,” Louis sent him another smile. “The newspaper’s one thing. Niall...is a whole different problem entirely.”

“Why are you two even friends?” Harry sat on his bed, and fumbled with his hands on his lap. “You act like you can’t stand him.”

“I can’t, most of the time,” Louis shrugged. “We’ve always been like this with one another. Don’t ask me why or how. But I think acting like we hate one another is the reason we’ve been friends for so long.”

“That- makes no sense.”

“Most things don’t,” Louis shrugged again, and picked up another mug, this time reading its inscription out loud- _“BORN TO BE WILDE?_ Seriously?”

Harry giggled with no shame. “Sorry. I just love literature mugs. They’re kind of- my thing.”

Louis picked up another, which was broken, and being held together with layers upon layers of sellotape. “I’m starting to think _breaking things_ might be your thing.”

Harry flushed once more, and looked away. Louis thought he must’ve touched some kind of nerve, for whatever reason, so he put down the mug, and came to sit on the desk in front of him.

“So,” he began, swinging his feet. “Do you use your powers for anything other than, just...I don’t know? Occasionally causing mayhem? Sometimes saving people’s lives?”

Harry chewed on his lips, pushing his glasses back up his nose in nerves. “I...um. Don’t laugh, but I don’t really do anything at all with them.”

Louis laughed in shock: he had to be joking, right? _“What?”_

“I don’t really…” Harry trailed off. “I guess I just...I help out around the farm when I can, and if I see a problem going south, I can’t ignore it. But my family doesn’t like it when I show off what I can do. They’re too afraid someone will figure it out.”

“But…you don’t think they can be used to help more?” Louis pressed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I get why they don’t want you to use them, but I just think-”

He looked to the posters on the wall, absentmindedly so. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Harry over the week they hadn’t spoken, most notably what his _powers_ could do. He could stop bullying altogether at Smallville High with the flick of the wrist, and that was just for starters. Hell, Harry could become an overnight sensation if he wanted to.

“-I just think you could do more, you know?” he looked back to Harry, who had suddenly turned very pale. “Not to pressure you. It’s just- what I’ve been thinking about. My big idea, and all that.”

Harry remained very still. When he did speak, he did so cautiously, with heightened weight in his words:

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to help,” he looked down. “It’s just- my parents are very- and I’m not good with attention, and- well. I’m not even sure about how I would go about it. If I could even be able of making a change. Sometimes, all I think I’m able to do is break things. Could you imagine if I took that into a situation with big things at stake? With multiple _people_ at stake? I’d mess things up even more than I usually do. And if I used my powers more freely, more outwardly...then there’d be nowhere to hide.”  
  
“I don’t know about that,” Louis spoke, noting Harry’s deep sense of upset- “But what I do know is that you saved my life. Twice. And if you were capable of that without meaning it, then- well. God knows what you could do with a bit of confidence, you know?”

Harry looked up at him then, full of hope and quiet and peace and warmth, and it suddenly dawned on Louis why they called it eye _contact._

-

Harry didn’t know how or why Louis was making him feel...the way he felt. It seemed to be a rather strange jumble of happiness, excitement and nerves that rattled around his head for the entire afternoon. After their talk about Harry _doing something special with his powers,_ or whatever, Louis seemed to notice Harry was keen on dropping the subject, and let it go.

Harry could tell it hadn’t left his mind, though. He saw Louis’ various stares and expressions, and knew that whatever he’d been thinking of all week- he was continuing now.

What was for certain was that Harry hadn’t heard the last of the whole _powers_ debate. Harry understood where he was coming from, he truly did. And he maybe would’ve agreed if Louis knew the whole story. The thing was- Harry wasn’t just a freak who could lift and break and fly. He was an entire different _species._ And his worst fear- his very, very _worst_ fear, would be to have his life ripped away from him because of that.

To see his mother’s worst nightmares come true. To spend the rest of his life as a test subject.

And as far as he was concerned, there was no way to avoid that. To be open with his powers was to open his arms to all sorts of criticisms and hurt and disgust, and Harry wasn’t quite sure it was worth the exchange of saving a few lives. All he’d ever wanted was to fit in. He knew it was selfish, but couldn’t Louis just see and respect that?

“So, Louis,” Suzanne said, at dinner. “Do you have any future plans? Ideas of what you want to be when you’re older?”

They were all sat at the tiny wooden table in the dining room; Michael had just gotten back from driving some produce down to a buyer in Metropolis. Harry had been trying his best to avoid her grins from across the table, but it was damn near impossible. She was proud he had a friend, he knew that- but could she have stopped reminding him of it every two seconds?

“Oh, I haven’t got it all figured out,” Louis rested his elbow on the table. “But it definitely involves Metropolis. Been dreaming about that place since I was a little kid.”

“Oh?” Michael raised an eyebrow. “I see what we’ve got here. City kid, trapped in a rural world.”

Louis laughed. “Something like that. My parents grew up there; I always figured it’d be nice to go back to where they were, you know? And like- my dream’s always been to work for the _Daily Planet_ newspaper. I know most people just see it as a bog-standard tabloid, but- I don’t know. I just feel like it’s where I’m _meant_ to be. You know?”

Harry didn’t know how he did it. Just- talking. To strangers and family alike, Harry managed to cock up his sentences, or go off on a tangent, or stumble or rattle and stutter until they just stopped listening. With Louis, it almost seemed like he _knew_ how good he sounded. He had no doubt in the world as to whether he’d be heard or not, or if what he was saying even held any meaning or sense. He just _talked_ , with that soft, crinkled voice of his, sounding like honey and rainfall all at once. And Harry felt like he could listen to him talk for a lifetime.

“I get the feeling,” Suzanne nodded. “I’ve wanted to farm since I was a little kid, but never quite managed to do it on my own. Then, on a warm, sunny day in Doncaster-  I ran into the love of my life in a corn field. And if that isn’t destiny, I don’t know what is.”

Michael reached over the table and squeezed her hand, and Louis visibly softened.

“What about you, Harry?” he turned, that kind expression still on his face. “What do you wanna do when you’re older?”

“I-” Harry flushed with colour, and his knee began bobbing in nerves. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“Nonsense,” Michael giggled. “This little tyke’s wanted to screenwrite from the moment he started walking, and it feels like he’s been doing just that ever since. When he was younger we had to spend hours scrubbing the walls clean of his various-- masterpieces.”

“Penned completely in crayon, I recall,” Suzanne added.

 _“Guys…”_ Harry sunk in his seat, and Louis laughed.

“Do you remember that time you wrote a Greek tragedy involving the ice cream lady from down the road?” Suzanne began to join in. “With the cones as weapons, and the van as a-”

“-Okay! I think that’s enough for today,” Harry stammered, face beet red, and Louis was alight with cackles beside him.

“What do you think?” Suzanne bargained, over the table. “Should we save him from further embarrassment?”

“I’d love to hear the rest of Harry’s various mishaps and endeavours,” Louis said, checking his phone. “But I really should be off home. Gran tends to worry when I’m out too long.”

“Oh, yes, of course!” Suzanne stood, and began gathering the dishes. “Harry, come on, walk him to the door-”

“-You don’t have to,” Louis grinned, putting on his jacket.

“-No, it’s fine,” Harry pulled out his chair. “I want to.”

He walked him to the door, not able to help feeling sad as Louis tugged his shoes back on, and leaned against the doorway in what appeared to be sleepy satisfaction. The hallway lights brushed softly against his cheeks, and for a moment, he seemed as unsure of what to say as Harry was.

He settled for- “So, is this the part where you tell me you’ve had a good time, and kiss me goodnight?”

Harry had been so perplexed with trying to figure out how friendships worked that the words didn’t quite sink in at first. Once they did, he stumbled backwards in shock, and tried in vain to breathe.

“I- the- wha-”

“-Easy, Farmboy,” Louis stepped forwards, steading him with a hand.“S’just a joke.”

Harry’s eyes were wide, and his breath short. “A…a joke?”

“Yeah,” Louis knocked his arm. “You know? That thing you do with people? When you wanna have a laugh?”

“I’m sorry,” Harry laughed, finally regaining the power of speech- “Unlike some, I wasn’t blessed with the gift of gab.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “You really think I’m blessed?”

Harry’s heart thundered in his chest. Unseen, he could’ve sworn he felt a spark pass between them. It was something so little and yet so sudden that he swayed a little in its wake: pulsing, simmering bolts of excitement swirling in his stomach.

“I mean, not you specifically,” Harry crossed his arms. “I could’ve been talking about a fair few people. Barack Obama. Usain Bolt. Ellen DeGeneres.”

Louis cackled; a surprisingly lovely sound from someone so occasionally mean.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Farmboy,” Louis knocked him on the arm, and Harry swung on his heels. “Try not to pucker up before then.”

“I mean- how will I resist?” Harry pouted, and Louis laughed as he walked out of the door. Harry leaned on the doorway for a moment, feeling the cold and the dark of the night, and desperately wanting him to stay. He wanted to feel those sparks again...wanted to know what they _meant._ “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?”

“Nah, s’fine. I’m a big boy now. I know the roads,” Louis winked, and made it to the gate.

“At least let me lend you a jumper, or something?” Harry called. “It’s cold.”

He knew how much Louis hated his jumpers, but he also knew that Louis was shivering from beneath his denim jacket, and trying very hard to hide it. He wondered why- again, there was no sense in concealing something so little as being affected by the January breeze.

“Yeah, right,” Louis just laughed even further.

The last thing Harry saw of him was a middle finger, and then, he was gone - consumed by the night. Even after he’d left, Harry lingered at the door, unable to wipe the smile from his face- and feeling, for the first time in years, completely, helplessly happy.

-

The initial anxiety Harry had had about Louis getting home alright dissipated as soon as he saw him on the bus the next day. He was sat in his same denim jacket, a headband shoved in his waves, and when he saw Harry, he grinned.

“Hey,” Harry said, lingering in the aisle. “Is it okay if I-”

“-Yes, you can sit next to me,” Louis rolled his eyes. “Jesus. You don’t have to ask.”

“I feel as though I should,” Harry admitted, sitting down. “Like it’s some kind of unspoken contract, or something.”

Louis snorted at that. “Thou must sweareth to sit in this here chair for the rest of thy days?”

“Yeah,” Harry snorted. “Something like that.”

It was then that he noticed a pile of books in Louis’ bag, the closest of which was actually in his hands, and frowned.

“What’re those?”

“Oh, these?” Louis lifted up the title between his palms. “Why, darling, they’re comics.”

“I’m not stupid,” Harry glared at him. “I just- I didn’t know you were into them.”

“Well, the more you know!” Louis beamed, so much that his eyes shut. “And listen. I know you were uncomfortable about the whole conversation we had before, about using your you-know-what and stuff. But…”

He put the comic of choice in Harry’s lap, one that depicted two men staring at one another, one in a bright red suit with his mask off, and the other hunched and small, with what appeared to be knives sticking from his hands.

“I really think these could be helpful to you in some way,” Louis gestured. “Or, at least, convey what I mean. I’m not that great at articulating things, sometimes?”

“You don’t say,” Harry flushed. He turned over the cover. “ _Spider-Man & Wolverine? _ Really?”

“Hey, it’s better than it sounds,” Louis defended, and he looked a little bashful. “It’s the second issue, they sell it in the bookstore near the vets.”

“I don’t get how this has anything to do with what you mean,” Harry frowned, and Louis leaned over. “I mean, they’re wearing...Suits?”

“Yes!” Their shoulders brushed as Louis pointed at the man in red. “Now, this is _Spider-Man_ , right? He has powers and shit, and he wears a suit to hide his identity and all of that. When he’s needed, he gets in the suit, and fights crime, and when he’s not, he lives life normally but keeps his true identity hidden.”

“His mask is off, though,” Harry adjusted his glasses. “You can see it, there- he’s revealing his identity to that other guy.”

“Yeah, and?” Louis rolled his eyes. “That other guy just happens to be _Wolverine._ The most badass superhero of all time? He’s only revealing his identity to him ‘cos he trusts him, and he knows that he won’t tell anyone. Sound familiar?”

Harry blinked, shuffling in his seat. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about...All of this. “I don’t know about _trust…_ ”

“Besides the point,” Louis gestured, flinging a denim jacket sleeve very much in his face. “What I’m saying is- _Spider-Man_ would end up in a lab if he didn’t disguise himself - wearing a suit and all of that shit. It’s how he stops people he loves from getting hurt, whilst still helping people. Now, if you were to-”

“-Louis,” Harry batted his hand away. “I’m no crimefighter. I’m barely able to make it down the hallway without falling over my own feet.”

Harry turned away, feeling almost overwhelmed. He had no idea where Louis’ new-found faith in him had come from, or why he seemed to think he was anything like some hot-shot comic book hero. Because the truth was- he wasn’t. Harry could barely make it through high school as it was, let alone with a whole...alter ego under his belt. He wasn’t someone who could pose for pictures, or nobly halt robberies, or single-handedly prevent a nuclear explosion.

He was the kid in the back, invisible to everyone. And no matter how much he wanted to help people, he very much doubted that he could.

“Hey. I wasn’t saying you need to cripple governments or stop world hunger, or anything,” Louis looked at him deeply. “And Hell. I wouldn’t expect you to. I was just saying...it’s not the worst idea.”

“It’s not the idea that’s the problem,” Harry shook his head. “It’s me, I’m just-”

He stopped short, for a paper ball had hit his face, and for a moment he just rose in confusion, searching for the sender. It didn’t take him long to find them. Stenlock Marsden sat a few rows in front of them, arched upon the back of his seat, grinning wildly their way. When Harry met his gaze, he wiggled his eyebrows.

“Nice one, Varsity!” Louis sent a sarcastic thumbs up his way. “The ol’ paper trick! Never gets old!”

Stenlock just smirked and turned back around, his friends all snorting around him. Unable to help his curiosity, Harry leaned forward to pick up the paper that’d hit him. Unfurling it showed the few mangled words written in its centre-

**When’s the wedding?**

Louis leaned over his shoulder and, snatching it from him, was not hesitant in tearing it up. His mouth folded in disgust, and he looked the most angry Harry had ever seen him.

“It’s fine,” was all he said, and he crossed his arms, turning towards the window.

Harry didn’t know what it was all about. He understood why Louis would’ve wanted to act unaffected by this whole bullying thing, he really did- but wouldn’t telling someone be a better response to all that was going on? Wouldn’t breaking the cycle work better than simply turning a blind eye? Harry wanted to help, he wanted to stop it- but Louis seemed happiest pretending that the problem wasn’t a problem at all.

“How long has he been-” Harry began, but Louis just shook his head.

“It’s fine, Harry,” he batted, and by which point, they had arrived at school. “Let’s not even waste oxygen on it.”

Harry had other ideas, but before he could articulate them, Louis was already waiting for him to move, and- well. If he knew anything about talking to Louis, it was that his will was completely immovable.

-

Class passed by...uneventfully. The only thing Harry noted as out of the ordinary was that Louis was waiting outside of his classroom for him when lunch began. He tugged Harry in the opposite direction of the cafeteria, a soft hand on his arm, and to say that Harry was confused was an immense understatement.

“Louis! Hi-” he blinked, unbelieving. “Wait- where are we going?”

“To the pitch,” Louis announced. With the hand not attached to Harry’s sleeve he jammed his headband further back in his hair.

“Why?”

“Well,” Louis smiled, lazily, and Harry felt something strange and sudden stab at his chest. “If you really want to know _why,_ football practise has been cancelled today due to the coach ever so _unfortunately_ being sick.”

“So…” Harry frowned even more.

“So…” Louis beamed, and his eyes crinkled with joy. “I thought it’d be a great time to teach you to play football.”

“I-I-” Harry couldn’t hide his excitement even if he tried- a giant, gummy smile broke onto his face, unwarranted. “Really?”

“Sure,” Louis winked. “Why, I’ve even gotten a few friends to join us.”

Harry was about to ask who before two boys, one blonde and one brown-haired, began waving and walking towards them. It was with a heightened sense of fear that Harry recognised the blonde one as Niall. The other one was wearing a leather jacket and bright yellow scarf, which radiated perfectly onto an exceedingly smooth face. He smiled brightly at Harry, flipping a fringe made of abundant, large curls out of his eyes.

“Hi!” he said, hands in his pockets. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Liam.”

“Uh-” Harry shrunk into his neck. “Hey. I’m- Harry.”

“We know,” Liam gave him a million-dollar smile, and Niall walked to join Louis.

“We checked the pitch,” he explained, carefully avoiding Harry’s line of vision. “And it seems fine. No jocks in sight.”

“Good,” Louis adjusted his bag. “Because I don’t think I can take any more of that shady assh-”

“-I think you’ve already met our friend Niall,” Liam interrupted, and smiled kindly at Harry. He seemed like the sort of person physically unable to say anything in a mean or unfriendly manner.

“Yeah,” Harry mumbled. He was still a little hurt about the article, and Niall looked as uncomfortable in the face of the topic as he did.

“Don’t worry,” Liam spoke, brashly. “He won’t bite. He’s actually quite sorry about the whole thing, you know.”

“Don’t talk for me, Liam,” Niall argued, and stuck out his tongue. “I’m not a five year old.”

“Maybe if you didn’t act like one I wouldn’t have to,” Liam raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s got to be the adult around here.”

“We’re all adults,” Niall crossed his arms.

“I’m not,” Harry chirped up, and flushed red at the attention that ensued. “I mean- not until next month.”

“A February birthday!” Liam beamed. “How amazing is that, Ni?”

“Just as amazing as any other birthday, I suppose,” Niall glowered.

“Hey, hey,” Louis put his arms around the both of them. “Don’t fight, now.”

“We’re not fighting,” Niall rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, _we’re not fighting,”_ Liam mimicked, giggling, and pushed Niall’s beanie from his head. They broke from Louis’ hold and started to play fight as they walked, Niall attempting to detach Liam’s scarf from his shoulders.

“Before you ask: yes,” Louis grinned at Harry. “They’re always like this. You learn to live with it.”

Harry was borderline terrified, but managed to smile nonetheless. He couldn’t help but watch Liam and Niall fight in front of him and think: _so this is what having friends is like..._

-

Harry was as awkward as ever, but Louis managed to coax him into a couple of games of football. He understood the basics pretty quickly, but even after Louis’ little tutorial had finished, he could tell Harry was still holding back. He was letting Niall or Liam take the ball from him, and ever-so hesitant to go pretty much anywhere without a nod of approval. It frustrated Louis at first: if he held back, how was he ever going to get better?

But then, Louis remembered his endless Harryness, and how with one misplaced kick, he could probably put either one of them in hospital. So he laid off, took a few steps back, and accepted it for what it was. (He could always give him an one-to-one session later. Or something.)

Around ten minutes in, Niall made up some half-arsed excuse for leaving the game, and joined Louis at the side of the pitch, sat cross-legged with a drink in his hand. He attempted to steal it.

“What?” Louis grinned, holding it up. “Thirsty?”

Niall stuck out his bottom lip, and Louis conceded, handing the bottle over. Niall drank so furiously from it that his cheeks swelled, and after he finished, relinquished it with a massive, happy sigh.

“Jesus,” Louis took back the bottle, empty. “It’s not like you ran a marathon or anything.”

“Your Harry runs fast,” Niall argued, sitting beside him.

Louis blinked, startled at the butterflies that rushed up in his stomach, completely against his will. “He’s not _my_ anything.”

“Oh, please,” Niall bumped his shoulder. “You’re doing a _Liam_ on him. Remember in Year One, where he was the hopeless new kid with no friends, and you practically adopted him ‘cos you felt bad?”

“This is not the same thing,” Louis laughed.

“Yes, it is,” Niall pointed, voice rising a little. “I see it. I see it in your eyes. You’re doing the _‘that’s my baby, and I’m so proud’_ face.”

“I’m allowed to make friends, aren’t I?” Louis raised an eyebrow, “It’s called being social. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Niall narrowed his eyes. “I just want to know why _him_. Why’s he so special?”

“You tell me,” Louis turned to him, jaw tight. “Are you not the one who wrote an entire fucking exposé on the guy?”

“That didn’t actually mean anything,” Niall rolled his eyes, moodily. “I just wanted top spot at the newspaper.”

 _For God’s sake,_ Louis thought. _Did Niall always have to make everything a battle?_

He shook his head and turned back to the game. Liam was currently chasing Harry around the pitch, legs flailing. Harry was one step away from looking exactly like a wet, flopping noodle- his every stance awkward, his face alight with an odd mixture of alarm and happiness. With every step that he took, his curls flung themselves back and forth across his forehead. He seemed to be having fun, but all Louis could think about was how much he was holding back.

How did he know one foot in the wrong place wouldn’t send him flying? How did he know that when he kicked the ball, he wouldn’t end up forming a ten mile crater into the pitch?

“-And I didn’t even get it,” Niall pressed, continuing regardless. “So I figure you owe me at least something, you cock. Even _you_ said he wasn’t that interesting.”

He shoved him again, and Louis rolled his eyes. He clasped his hands together in the cold, and watched Harry giggle as Liam playfully shoved him away from the ball.

“I was wrong,” he said. “Harry is...probably the opposite of boring.”

 _No shit,_ his brain said. _Dude can probably bench-press a tractor._


	5. Chapter 5

5: I’ll give you the stars

Things that Harry learned over the next two weeks:

  1. He had apparently found himself in a ‘clique’.



He wasn’t aware of this until Louis told him that all high schools had cliques.

“Yeah, there’s like,” he spoke, over lunch one day. “All of the stereotypical ones first. Like, the cheerleaders, and footballers, and shit. And then, there’s like, the smaller ones, that are less popular, like the chess nerds and the lab lads. And then there’s the jacket alliance.”

“Which is...You?”

“Well, yeah,” Louis raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever seen us in anything _but_ jackets?”

Harry thought on that for a moment, and came to the conclusion that he had not.

“Anyway, it’s _us_ now,” Louis nudged him. “You, me, Niall, Liam. You’re part of our clique and there’s no way out. We’ve _claimed_ you now. Insert evil laugh here.”

Louis expressed it weirdly, as Louis expressed everything, but the point of his speech was clear. Harry, for all of his faults and awkwardness and complete lack of a filter, had managed to maybe, quite possibly, fit in somewhere. To have friends, for the first time in his life, that weren’t completely repulsed by his presence (or his parents). To have someone that didn’t mind having him around...someone that he got on with.

Harry sank into his neck, blushing with utter and complete happiness. “I- I don’t know what to say.”

God, he could have cried. Only the small amount of pride he had left stopped the flow of tears from erupting down his face and all over what was, in Louis’ eyes, a nonchalant and happy conversation.

“Say _let’s go out this weekend and buy you a jacket, supreme leader!”_

Harry sniffed in a laugh, and tried his best to remain unaffected by Louis’ charms. _“Supreme leader?_ Really?”

Louis sent him a smirk. “Well, it’s what I am, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes I wonder how your ego got so incredibly large,” Harry leaned forwards, “and then I remember the fact that people call you shit like _Supreme Leader_ , and it all becomes clear to me. _”_

“Heyyy,” Louis looked delighted at Harry’s sarcasm. “I’m not all ego, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Harry tucked his chin into his turtleneck. “At least twelve percent of you is _RuPaul_ quotes.”

Louis cackled at that, and Harry felt a strange sort of pride wash up his stomach. Was this all for real? Because it couldn’t possibly have been. He and Louis had been arch enemies determined on solely winding each other up a few weeks ago. But now, Harry looked at him and saw no greater joy in the world. He’d never had a friend in his life, and it was only now that he truly understood what he’d been missing out on all this time.

“Well, whether you hail me as your new leader or not, I’ve still gotta get you some decent clothes,” Louis slurped on the straw of an exceedingly pink milkshake. “If I see another one of those _things_ I think I might cry.”

He nodded to Harry’s turtleneck, which was deep blue and baggy at the wrists. Harry just rolled his eyes: Louis’ strong distaste of his fashion choices was nothing new. “So you want me to dress like you, act like you...sounds a lot like I’m being initiated into a cult.”

Louis’ smile tipped into a grin. “Who’s to say you’re not?”

  1. Being in a clique was...Good.



It was good because Harry got to come home each day knowing he wasn’t alone. Being able to have a birthday party for once was a plus (despite the guest list being few and far between). Louis easily made up for Liam’s polite awkwardness and Niall’s abundant silences, however, and they spent the majority of the time eating cake and watching the cows meander about.

It was also good because Harry finally got to have _presents_ on his birthday, which was something he’d never had before, and equally as terrifying as it was exciting. Niall got him a pair of socks, Liam got him chocolate, and Louis, being Louis, got him a cowboy hat.

“What?” he’d defended, holding it up. “Got something against the Wild Wild West, Farmboy?”

Harry mostly liked being in a clique because it meant that he had someone to talk to... if he ever had something to say.

(Not that he _had_ much to say. Most days he spent fondly blushing to himself over the various things his new friends said. They had a lot of laughs, and spread a lot of gossip, and Harry found himself liking them more and more each time they did.)

He talked to Louis the most, of course. It was always Louis, everywhere, and Harry couldn’t quite describe why talking to him felt so... safe. It felt like the rest of the room going on pause. It felt like Harry’s words actually _meant_ something, and were being spoken to someone who actually seemed to give a shit about what Harry thought (even in the times they spent bickering).

Harry liked Niall and Liam, he really did, but they had a lot less patience than Louis did when it came to Harry’s rambling. Most times, he wasn’t even sure they listened more than five words into whatever Harry had to say.

“...So, in short, we don’t know what’s wrong with her,” he finished.

They were in English Literature, sneaking a conversation inbetween tasks, and Harry had just finished explaining that they still didn’t know what was wrong with Edmund. She refused to let anyone near her most days, and grunted with anger even when people respected her personal space.

“That’s shit,” Louis said, and sighed. “Have you tried, your- um, you know?”

“My _you know,”_ Harry repeated, smiling. God, he hated the way Louis phrased things sometimes. It was all so infuriatingly vague, and yet…

He couldn’t stop grinning.

“You _know,”_ Louis whispered, cheekily, and elbowed him. “ _X-ray vision_ and shit?”

“No,” Harry flushed pink, fumbling with his sleeves upon the desk. “Course I haven’t.”

“Why?”

“Well, my first instinct isn’t to just _scan things_ all of the time. I had to explain this to my parents as well.”

“No _kidding_ you did. It’s the answer to pretty much everything,” Louis tilted back his head. “Sad cow? X-ray scan it! Bad grades? X-ray scan it! Can’t find a will to live? X-ray scan it! Dude, how do you have any problems at all?”

“That’s-” Harry burst into giggles- “That’s not the way it works.”

“How does it work, then?” Louis gaped. “Mr high-and-mighty?”

“I can see _through_ things,” Harry blinked. “Not _understand_ things. For instance, if Edmund has some awful infection, I won’t be able to see it unless it’s holding up a picket sign from inside of her veins, or something.”

“I think you’re just playing safe,” Louis crossed his arms. “I think you’re afraid that if you scan this cow, you’ll fall down a rabbit-hole of irreversible good acts that will one day lead to your superheroism, and then you’ll have to admit that I was right all along.”

“Oh, not the comic thing again,” Harry shook his head. “Louis, you need to get it into your head that I just can’t be a super-whatever. I don’t have it in me.”

“Bullshit,” Louis teased, nudging him again- a cocky look on his face. “I think you’re just scared of trying.”

Harry didn’t know what to say to that. Of _course_ he was scared of trying- he was scared of it going wrong, he was scared of embarrassing himself, he was scared of letting his parents down, or worse- hurting them. There were so many things in the balance that Louis couldn’t see.

“Anyway,” Louis continued. “It’s not as though-”

Mr. Crofter, having finally had enough of their conferring, stomped his foot down at the front of the class, and the entire room fell silent. Harry got a strange, prickly feeling at the back of his neck, as though he knew something was about to go wrong. He heard Louis mutter a little “fuck” beneath his breath in agreement.

“-Since you seem to know the poem so well, Mr. Styles and Mr. Tomlinson, maybe you’d like to read out your interpretations for us?” Mr. Crofter crossed his arms. “You obviously seem to think you don’t have to listen to whatever I have to say.”

Harry was about to apologise, but Louis beat him to it- eyebrow raised in an expression that could be described as nothing but a snark.

“Sure,” he chewed on his gum. “So, this guy. Alfred Lord... Tenny...sin...or something. He wrote _Tithonus_ obviously in a wave of grief. He’s obviously meant to be Tithonus, who’s wearing away whilst his love stays young and immortal. Alfred’s best friend died before he wrote it, and he feels like he has to live and suffer whilst his friend can forever stay young in death.”

“An impressive interpretation,” Mr. Crofter narrowed his eyes. “Sounds exactly like the one I gave as an example, in fact.”

Louis groaned, rolling his eyes. He was stroppy in defeat- a fact that Harry had learned quickly over endless games on the arcade machine Suzanne kept in the back room. For Louis, anything other than a win was a loss, and in the face of such an outcome he scrumpled his nose, wrinkled his brow, and spent quite a lot of time pretending that he didn’t care.

Which, of course, meant he did.

“And it’s Tenny _son,_ not sin.” Mr. Crofter continued his scathing review. “Perhaps Mr. Styles may provide something a little more...original.”

The class’ attention fell to Harry, and he rapidly felt his heart drop out of his chest.

Harry could lift up an entire barn, see through solid objects, and fly faster than the speed of light. But he just wasn’t good at... public things. And talking in front of an entire class was quite possibly the most public thing he could think of, even if he _did_ know what on Earth to say.

Which he didn’t.

In fact, there was nothing at all in Harry’s head. He was unavoidably going to let Mr. Crofter down, and as he scrambled to think of something, _anything_ to do with the poem, he grew upset, and with this apprehension came a rushed heartbeat and trembling limbs and the urge to dart out of the classroom before he cried and then-

-An interlude.

Quietly, surely, Louis’ hand had come to hold his under the desk.

It wasn’t in a romantic way. Wasn’t in a _fingers interlocked, to love and cherish forever and ever_ kind of a way. In fact, Louis’ right hand was barely touching Harry’s trembling left, his fingers wandering no further than Harry’s knuckles. And yet- the act alone was enough to flood Harry with shock, and a wave of senses so strong that he was knocked away from his anxiety with all the force of a freight train.

From a distance, it was bearable, but up close...

Up close Louis was _intoxicating_.

His hand was so cool, a soothing balm to the trembling fever that had taken ahold of Harry’s body. His thumb had tucked itself beneath Harry’s palm, steady and gentle: his pulse beating into Harry’s own. If he concentrated, Harry could feel every line and camber of Louis’ palm. The sound as his thumb moved to ghost Harry’s wrist. His fingerprint, burying itself into Harry’s mind.

He found himself breathing slowly in an attempt to process it all- to deal with the unexplainable rush of his heart. And so, calm rushed over him like freezing water, and so he met Louis’ eyes with a feeling he could only describe as giddy.

Louis smiled, just a little. Almost to say _come on. It’s only fucking Crofter._

“I...um,” Harry pushed up his glasses in a rush to compose himself, and stared at the desk. “I don’t think the poem is about...that.”

“The poet’s friend?” Mr Crofter placed his hand on his hip, “Then what?”

“I…” Harry sipped in a breath, and an unreasonable flood of adrenaline rushed through his chest. “The...the poet is scared of living without his friend, just as much as Tithonus is scared of living without his soulmate, Eos.”

He paused, and nobody told him to stop, so he...didn’t. His pulse echoed between his ears as he spoke on, gazes burning fire-like holes into his head.

“A-as the poem continues he grows older and older, scared that she’ll leave him for someone who once had his eternal youth, and his eternal beauty, you know? He- he begs for death to save himself from his worst fears, and to avoid seeing what he might become..maybe?”

A moment of silence: Harry’s heart thundered in his chest. In the corner of his eye, he saw Louis grin beside him, retracting the hand from under the table. The senses left Harry all at once, and for a moment, he swayed with the sudden loss of it all. It was like being put under a blindfold.

“Not bad, Styles,” Crofter sat back at his desk, and a flood of relief gushed upon Harry. “So your interpretation is that...the man’s just scared?”

“Yes,” Harry said, looking to Louis. “I suppose he is.”

-

Smallville’s endlessly flat fields made it just as good for football as it was for farming. Louis was endlessly grateful for this, especially as his and Harry’s sports class were tackling football that week. A slip up in front of Stenlock and crew couldn’t bear thinking about, and Harry had been acting strange ever since he got out of English Lit...Louis couldn’t help but expect the worst.

He nudged him once they were on the pitch together, cold pinching at his knees, arms submerged in goosebumps. “What was that about?”

“Huh?” Harry looked up. He was trying, in vain, to tug up his sports socks. They were too big for him, and flopping uselessly upon his boots when they should’ve rested upon his knees.

“Last lesson,” Louis beamed, nudging him again. “You know. You suddenly getting a world-changing interpretation out of nowhere.”

“It was world-changing?” Harry stood, flushing pink, and looked intensely uncomfortable with the analysis.

“Course it was,” Louis put his hands on his hips. “Did you see Crofter’s face? I mean, I certainly didn’t expect it from you.”

A pause, in which Harry frowned a little, and Louis closed his eyes.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he gritted. “Of course you’re not dumb or anything. I just mean- I know you’re not the most confident person. Especially when put on the spot.”

Harry gnawed on an exceedingly red and rounded bottom lip. “I guess I just...I don’t know. I calmed down.”

Louis grinned even further. “So it _was_ my hand?”

The game started, and Harry made a lackluster attempt to appear engaged in it, if only to avoid Louis’ endless questioning. But Louis just couldn’t help himself. A strange, curious part of him wanted to feel closer to Harry, and if the only means by which this was achievable was mindless irritation, then so be it.

“I’d like to say it was just random,” he continued, pretending to jog beside Harry. “But I was reading this article on the internet-”

“-Oh _God,”_ Harry teased, and shook his head so hard curls flopped over his eyes.

“-And it was about manatees, right?” Louis flexed his leg. “And how they can feel objects from far away and how their tactile hairs can detect things that often distract them-”

“-Louis, I’m not a manatee,” Harry blinked. “And I certainly don’t have _tactile hairs_.”

He looked stunned at the comparison, but Louis was on a roll and couldn’t stop.

“I’m just saying, the senses-overload thing is kinda the same,” he batted a hand. “They get overwhelmed easily, because there’s obviously a lot of things in the sea. Just like there were a lot of things in that classroom. But a new _overpowering sense_ can calm them when they’re getting freaked out, like a new sea current, or a change in water temperature. Any new element. So, I introduced one.”

Louis smiled and cocked his head, expecting praise. But Harry just shook his head again and continued to jog along the pitch, trying his best to fit in with the football game.

“I mean, obviously, it must have worked,” Louis continued. “Cos you did great, right?”

“All thanks to you?”

“No- I don’t mean _all thanks to me,_ I’m just-” Louis huffed. “I’m just saying if you understood your powers more, you could maybe learn how to use them to your advantage.”

Harry looked at him quietly for a moment, eyes narrowed and dark with thought.

“Maybe,” he said, eventually.

“Maybe?” Louis flapped his arms. “Farmboy, what’s wrong with you today? I suggest an amazing idea to you and it’s just a _maybe?”_

“I don’t like being compared to an animal, Louis,” Harry flushed, and it only struck Louis that he might have been actually _upset_ by the comparison.

Guilt hit him like a blow to the chest, and he was so disoriented by it that he forgot a few key things. Firstly, that he was meant to have been playing goalkeeper for the blue team. Secondly, that his conversation with Harry had brought him not only metres away from the goal, but towards the centre of the pitch, where…

Stenlock Marsden of the red team had just ran past him with the ball. Louis may as well not have been on the fucking pitch in the first place.

“Tomlinson!” the teacher yelled, hands on his hips. “What the bloody hell are you doing? You just gave the other team a free goal!”

Louis put his hands on his head and watched, helplessly, as Stenlock ran to the goal, ball skidding in front of his feet. There was no point in even _trying_ to stop him- by the time Louis started running, Stenlock would already be at the net, and Louis would just look like even more of an idiot than he already did.

“Lousy fucker. Did you even see him?” Louis turned to complain to Harry- but when he did... Harry wasn’t there.

There was a blur before Louis’ eyes, and then Harry was in fact one step behind Stenlock, and in a moment of pure adrenaline, seemed to be trying his best to stop him from scoring. Louis felt himself hold his breath: _what the fuck was he playing at?_ Stenlock was already a second away from the goal line…half a second...

A quarter of a second…

Just before Stenlock made it, Harry’s foot darted out, and in one smooth motion, had kicked the ball from one goal to the other. For a moment the entire pitch went silent in awe: Stenlock’s jaw touched the ground. And then, Louis’ team was yelling in ecstasy, and the coach himself was running to congratulate Harry personally, the ball only just having landed in the other net.

“Now _that’s_ what I call sportsmanship!” he clapped Harry on the back. “I didn’t know you had that in you- God, Styles, that must take some leg!”

Harry seemed rather unprepared for the applause, and flushed bright red towards Louis, as if to say: _help me!_

Louis shrugged and grinned on back, as if to say: _you brought it on yourself, mate._

“I- I work out,” he stammered, and the coach laughed.

“Well, your little workouts have done much more than any of my actual football team has in the past five minutes,” he commended, glaring daggers at Louis and his teammates. “What do you say you take Stenlock here’s place on the team?”

-

“And so he just like, comes up to Harry, and is all like _you’re great, my team totally sucks - what do you say you take Stenlock’s place on it?_ ”

“You’re kidding,” Niall gaped, eyes wide for the gossip.

They were on their way out of school that same afternoon, the sky whipped and light - and Harry’s ears burning from exhaustion and humility both. The amount of times Louis had recited the story made him tired of hearing it, as if he wasn’t already embarrassed enough. The tale of the head footballer being taken down by the farmboy with no experience had already become a timeless fable in Louis’ eyes, and he was determined to make it go down in history.

“Hell no!” Louis beamed, a pretty shock of hair falling into his eyes as he spoke. “And then Stenlock’s face went borderline purple, and he was all stuttery and weird, and Harry was just like _I have to ask my parents!_ And that was that. It was just- fucking epic.”

“It sounds it,” Liam smiled Harry’s way. “You’re quite the superstar now.”

“I didn’t mean to be,” Harry bit his lip.

“Please,” Niall rolled his eyes. “You can’t just borderline-tackle one of the most popular guys in school and expect not to be made a saint for it. Tell me the story again.”

“Not _again_ ,” Harry whined, and Louis slung a lazy arm around his shoulder.

“Oh, Harry, fame has changed you,” he faked, and Harry shoved him away in a giggle.

“He has a point,” Liam spoke, wisely. “I mean, you two are about to get on the bus, we’ve heard this story about thirteen times already, and- well. It’s time to go home.”

“I don’t mind staying to hear it again,” Niall batted his eyelashes.

“I’m not missing work so that you can bank on your _justice_ fetish,” Louis swatted his way. “Away, child.”

“Fine,” Niall stuck out his lip. “But you’ve got to text me the story again. At least twice. You too, Harry.”

It took all but the three of them wrangling Niall into his car to stop his endless begging. After that, Liam left to cycle home, because _Liam was annoyingly responsible and nearly everything Harry wanted to be,_ and Harry and Louis got on the bus as usual. The first thing Harry noticed was that people were staring at him.

Okay, so they stared at him anyway. But that day it was more than usual...And _unforgivingly_. Their eyes were boring into his face, and he didn’t know where to look or what to do. He stopped walking altogether, chin buried in his turtleneck, eyes wide and mouth faltering.

Louis just tutted. He was right behind Harry, and had undoubtedly noticed how rigid Harry’s shoulders had gone in the face of the attention, and how disaster was probably soon to follow it. The next thing Harry felt was two very stern hands on his shoulders, and then, they’d taken a seat.

When they sat down and people still hadn’t stopped staring, Louis stood, glaring furiously.

“What? Expect him to pull a rabbit out of a hat or something?”

They soon turned away, and Harry stared at the ground with flushing cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Louis shrugged.

Harry spent the first few minutes deep in thought. He wasn’t even sure why he pulled that stunt on the football pitch. It went against everything he’d been taught, and deep down, he knew he was just being a show off. The guilty feeling in his stomach wasn’t worth the few minutes of euphoria. It wasn’t like him to bring attention to himself- and yet, a part of him had somehow liked it...

“Hey,” Louis poked. “Do I take the glazed look in your eyes as a yes?”

“A…” Harry’s mouth fell slack. “What?”

Louis rolled a pair of very round eyes, and sighed. “I said you should come over to where I work sometime. Keep me company. It’s empty most of the time and I’m sure my boss wouldn’t mind.”

“I…” Harry bit his lip.

“Jesus,” Louis shook his head. “You weren’t even listening, were you? I just thought I’d mention it because it’s a big link to the last four things I was saying, and…”

“I’m sorry,” Harry shrunk into his shoulders.“I was just thinking about today and-”

“-Yeah, yeah,” Louis leaned back in his seat. “I get it.”

When Louis did anything, he seemed to almost push his entire body into it. Like leaning, for example. He couldn’t just lean with his back. He had to almost make it seem as though his entire _face_ was leaning with the effort. He scrumpled his eyes, and his arched brows lowered slightly, as if deeply unimpressed. Harry was beginning to learn that Louis’ face didn’t always say what he meant it to. And if Harry didn’t know Louis better, in that moment he would’ve said he looked _frustrated_ rather than strangely fond.

“You’ve got a lot to reflect on,” Louis said, and tucked a curl behind Harry’s ear (to which Harry flushed bright pink). “You know, I still don’t get why you pulled that shit if it wasn’t for the attention.”

“Maybe I just wanted to,” Harry shrugged, but Louis obviously wasn’t buying it.

He shuffled a little closer to Harry, squinting, his little red mouth pulled tight.

“I don’t doubt you _wanted_ to,” he said. “But why?”

Harry gnawed on his lip in thought, knowing Louis wouldn’t like the answer. Turning away only seemed to fan Louis’ curiosity in the right direction…

“I mean,” he started. “It can’t’ve been for me.”

A silence.

“Harry,” Louis went very quiet. “It wasn’t.”

“-I know you don’t want to talk about it,” Harry said, unable to stop himself- “But- I know there’s the bullying, and everything - I just didn’t want him to take something else from you.”

“Harry, I- It was just a sports game,” Louis blinked, and he looked so flustered it was hard to tell what he was thinking, “It’s not like it was an actual _match_ or anything.”

“Still,” Harry shrugged. “I wanted to protect you. And I was just sick of him, and sick of watching from the sidelines, and sick of being told what to do, and- I don’t know. It was a mistake to let loose and I shouldn’t have done it.”

He’d said too much, and leaned against the window in shame, messing with his glasses until Louis said something. He had to wait a little while, because Louis spent the next two minutes glowering to himself in deliberation.

“Firstly, I’m not being bullied,” Louis said, quietly. “Okay? It’s just a- thing. We don’t like each other and it’s just a thing. I can handle it.”

Harry would beg to differ, but Louis had already sat up in his seat, a fresh smile dawning on his face.

“I just-” Louis patted his arm. “I can’t believe you put your entire reputation on the line just to protect my honour.”

Harry flushed. Why was Louis so reluctant to admit that he needed help? “Maybe your honour’s worth protecting.”

“And you say you’d make a shitty superhero,” Louis teased, bumping his shoulder.

They met eyes, and Harry smiled despite not wanting to. He wished he was one of those people who could hide his emotions to act cool, or unbothered, or not the general disaster that he was _all of the time._ But he just wasn’t. Whatever he was thinking or feeling instantly splashed over his face, like a dam at capacity. He was just...so elated he had friends. And especially Louis, who was strange and complicated and contrary and quite possibly the weirdest person Harry had ever met.

And yet, meeting him was already one of the best things he’d ever done. Harry was determined to figure him out.

“So are you gunna take it?” Louis asked. “Coach’s offer, I mean?”

Harry puffed out his cheeks, fiddling with the sleeves upon his fingers. “I mean. I dunno.”

“I could always help you brush up on a few things,” Louis nudged him. “And the idea of kicking Stenlock off the team is just too good to resist.”

Of _course_ it would be. Harry shook his head. Petty, petty Louis. Harry wanted to give him everything and nothing all at once, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to feel. Of course Stenlock deserved everything he got, but...Harry couldn’t help but feel guilty. He wasn’t even good at football, and joining it just because he had powers seemed like a bit of a bad thing to do. If Louis was in his position, would he do the same?

Seeing Louis’ grin, it wasn’t even a question. Of _course_ he would.

“I’ll have to ask my parents,” he decided, finally.

Louis stuck out his tongue.

“Don’t make that face,” Harry laughed, breathlessly. “I’m not being a telltale or anything- I just. I’d like their word on this.”

“You could always keep it a secret,” Louis batted his eyelashes and began to smirk.

“I can’t lie, Louis,” Harry blushed, and Louis leaned on his shoulder. “Not to them.”

 _Not even for you,_ he added, mentally. He wondered how many secrets Louis kept, and wondered if any of them amounted to the one Harry stowed away in the attic...

“I know you can’t, Farmboy,” Louis spoke, and he was so close that Harry felt a rush or two down his spine. “I think it’s good you’re telling them, you know?”

A smile grew on Harry’s face. “You do?”

“Yeah, course I do,” Louis beamed on back, and adjusted the cap on his hair. “Just...let me know how it goes.”

-

Suzanne was baking when Harry came downstairs, her hair yanked into a bun and her apron splattered with cake batter. She didn’t realise he was there until he reached over to have a taste: she playfully slapped his hand away.

“Just because you’re invincible doesn’t mean you can eat the batter, you know,” she scolded, and moved the bowl away. “It’s still bad for you.”

He pouted and sat on the stool beside her. “But it tastes so good.”

“You haven’t changed one bit,” she pinned him with a knowing stare, and began setting out cupcake cases. “When you were young you used to steal the bowls and run off upstairs, right under my nose. Only reason you got away with it was because you were so fast.”

Harry smiled at the memory, and remembering the task at hand, wondered how far he could push his luck. “I’m still fast, you know.”

“Hmm. Well. I should think so,” Suzanne didn’t look up, and adjusted a cupcake case resting slightly out of its place.

“In fact, I’m the fastest kid in my class,” Harry continued. She pottered around him, fetching things from the shelves and sprinkling things into the batter. “The coach thinks I should join the team.”

It was then she pinned him with a stare as knowing as it was alarmed. “You haven’t used your powers, have you?”

“No-!” Harry knew how important it was to muffle her fury. “No, I haven’t, I was just- good, you know? I was good on the pitch and-”

“-I’m glad you’re doing well at sports,” she cut through him, and continued to mix. “But you can’t join the team. I’ll write a letter to the coach later to explain.”

Harry’s chest began to tighten with disappointment- this wasn’t going as he hoped it would at all. “But- Mama. I- I was thinking of saying yes.”

She stopped mixing, and looked at up at him. Fear and frustration riddled her eyes. “You _know_ you can’t play on the team, Harry.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not,” she fussed, tucking her hair back. “We’ve been over this, countless times-”

“-And you’ve always said no! I know!” Harry pleaded, “but I’m ready this time. I have friends, I know what I have to do-”

“-And you know what you _can’t_ do!” she shook her head. “It’s just too dangerous, Harry. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Harry looked away- his heart was racing, and he felt his prior excitement- his prior happiness- rush away from him in waves.

“-You don’t know what might happen,” Suzanne stressed. “Football is a game filled with emotion, and if yours go awry someone could end up in hospital, or worse-”

“I’m not going to kill anyone, Mama,” Harry scowled. “I just want to be like everyone else.”

“You can’t, Harry,” Suzanne turned away from him, and began scrubbing at her hands in the sink. “You can’t be like everyone else. You’re special, and it’s not a bad thing. But you have to learn to keep your gifts a secret until you’re older, by which point-”

“-By which point what?” Harry stood, and couldn’t believe how _impossible_ she was being. “I’m eighteen and you’re _still_ telling me no? At what point can I actually do things? At what point will you actually trust me not to mess everything up?”

She didn’t answer, and continued to scrub her hands in the sink- her ginger hair bobbing with the effort. Harry could hear her heart thumping beneath her apron, and her feet tapping skittishly upon the varnished wood floor. She was scared, and he wondered why. Was it because of him? Was it because she thought he would hurt her? Or was she just scared that Harry was growing tired of his powers being allowed one moment and dismissed the next?

“This isn’t a discussion,” Suzanne’s voice grew quiet, and very shaky- “You’re not joining the team, Harry. You can’t.”

“That’s right,” Harry’s chest heaved, and his breathing fell very, very quickly- “Because if you had your way, you’d just keep me locked away forever.”

“Harry,” she turned, and her face fell taut with sadness. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is,” Harry took a step forward. “The night you adopted me you questioned everything. I heard you. You didn’t want me to be like this. You always saw my gifts as a bad thing. You wanted to stop me from having friends, stop me from going outside until it all went away. But guess what. It didn’t go away. You’ve never accepted me as I am, you’ve always turned the other way and hoped that you’d wake up in the morning with some perfect child-”

“-That’s not true!” Suzanne yelled. “And you know it’s not! We’ve always loved you for who you are, regardless of what you could do, and tried our best to protect you-”

“-Stopping me from doing everything isn’t protecting me, mama!” Harry’s lips wavered. “I could have had so many friends if I hadn’t listen to you! I could’ve helped so many people with what I can do, but instead I spent years alone. Years believing that someday things would be different. Believing it, because you told me to.”

Her eyebrows lowered. “Harry…”

“No,” he took steps back, and clenched his hands in his curls. “No. I’m not listening anymore. I’m done listening to you.”

“Harry-” she walked to him, and he stepped back so rapidly that his back thumped against the door. He had the strongest urge to fly, to escape, to isolate himself from everything and everybody that had ever hurt him…

“Did you ever even love me?” he asked, “or was I just your little alien pet project?”

Her mouth opened in either complete shock or shame, and Harry didn’t stay to hear the answer. He rushed out of the kitchen and out of her sight, and didn’t stop running until the tears on his cheeks ceased their fall.

-

Louis thought about Harry all through his shift, which meant he didn’t get to see many dogs, and that Amy was more than a little annoyed with him. But he felt so giddy that day that he just didn’t care, and so the evening seemed to melt away in no time at all. After everything, Louis really had grown more than a little fond of the kid.

Sure, he was a dork. He was the dorkiest of dorks. And had the worst fashion sense since the big bang, and the weirdest spindly legs...but he was funny, and sweet, and honest, in the most modest and quiet way possible, and seemed to waft through life gently, both adamant and terrified that nobody would notice him there. He was a wallflower on the cusp of greatness; a man with the sky beneath his feet and fire in his line of vision. And despite his pride, Louis wanted to get to know him better.

He hated getting someone wrong, especially since their first impression hadn’t been...the best. To Louis, Harry had initially just looked like another awkward yet adorable soul, destined to spend their final year in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now, Louis felt like he knew him better than the back of his hand.

Well. Mostly.

He was thinking about this whilst shopping that night, the streets awash in darkness, and his basket fairly empty. Louis was mostly still out just so he could avoid Granny Viv for another few hours. He loved her more than life itself, but sometimes- especially around this time of year- she got too unbearable for words...

The bell on the door of the supermarket rang, and Louis looked up to see _Harry,_ of all people. He was wearing a massive plaid shirt drenched from the rain, and picked up a shopping basket with such anger that Louis thought it may have ripped in half.

He rushed to join him in the baking aisle, by which point Harry’s basket was already half full (fuck, that kid was fast).

“Farmboy!” he breathed, reaching out to him. “Hey!”

Harry didn’t answer, and instead threw a rather large box of pasta into the basket.

Louis had never seen him so...angry. His eyes were bloodshot from behind his glasses, and his movements seemed so jagged and brutal that he seemed a man possessed. His shoulders were rigid and wet beneath the shirt, and his shoulder blades formed knives below his neck. Even his eyelashes, which usually rested gently beneath his glasses, looked deadly and sharp from under the rain. Louis didn’t understand how one bad day could transform someone so completely.

“Hey,” Louis frowned. “Harry- what are you doing?”

Harry continued to walk, this time towards the home essentials aisle. He picked up a roll of tissue and a bottle of water.

“Running away,” he said.

For a second Louis wondered if he was serious, and then...the things inside of his basket made sense. He fought the urge to laugh, but caught Harry’s angry green glare, and ultimately decided against that plan.

“Why?” he asked, instead. “Do you even have money for all of those?”

Harry walked to the counter and put the basket down upon the self service till. His hands were shaking. “I stole it.”

“Harry…” Louis breathed. “What happened?”

Harry began to scan the items, lips trembling upon a very uncertain face. “I’m running away and living somewhere else. I don’t know where. I just know that I can’t live like this anymore.”

“What?” Louis asked. “What are you talking about?”

Harry shook his head and dropped his wallet. Louis stooped to receive it- inside lay a very crumpled picture of his parents smiling side by side.

Oh.

“Harry, one fall out with your parents doesn’t mean they don’t love you,” Louis spoke, and Harry took the wallet back.

“I’ve just had enough,” Harry spoke, and Louis didn’t know what else to do but help him pack.

Five shopping bags later and they were walking out of the store, Louis more than a little concerned, and Harry unfaltering in his step. Louis expected him to fly off into the dark, but instead he walked towards a big red truck and dumped the items in the back.

“Harry-” he spoke, at a loss. “Did you steal this too?”

“It’s my mums’,” Harry muttered, and got into the front seat. “I’m not keeping it. It’s just to drive my stuff to wherever I’m going.”

Louis got into the passenger seat, “Which is…”

“I don’t know.” Harry muttered, and his face was hard with grief. “I didn’t think this out.”

“Well, until you find wherever it is you’re going, I’m staying right here,” Louis patted his own knees, and stared determinedly out of the window.

“Why?” Harry turned to him. “Are you going to piss me off again? Do a bit of cheeky interrogation while you’re at it?”

“No,” Louis shook his head with irritation. “I just- I know what difficult parents are like.”

Harry thought on this for a moment and started the car. Louis tried to ignore the fact that tears were streaming down Harry’s face, and instead just stared out at the road, noting how different Smallville looked under nightfall. He looked over, noting Harry’s big long hand on the wheel.

He had a strange urge to hold it.

“They just want to control me,” Harry muttered, quietly. “They won’t let me take part in anything, they won’t let me join the team.”

“So, your response to this is...running away?” Louis asked.

Harry’s face fell dark with regret. “If I’m alone, they can’t tell me what to do. I’ll be my own boss for once.”

“Where will you live?”

“In a cave. Or an abandoned house,” Harry’s hand shook. “I don’t know. I’ll find some place far from here. One where they can’t reach and hurt me anymore.”

“Oh, Farmboy,” Louis offered, leaning sideways on the seat. “They’ll miss you. Your cows’ll miss you.”

A fat tear left Harry’s eye. “If they had their way, I wouldn’t know them at all.”

“Oh, please, you know that’s not true,” Louis said. “Come on, stop the car.”

Harry looked doubtful: they were heading out of town, and he obviously hadn’t navigated this part of Smallville before. White light from the streetlights above washed onto his face.

“Harry,” Louis pressed. “I’m not going to stop you from running away and finding your true destiny, or anything. I just want to show you something.”

Harry looked over at him and weakness entered his face. Within seconds he’d stopped the car, and removed his trembling hands from the wheel.

“Okay,” Louis spoke, softly. “Now let me drive.”

-

Harry felt so numb he didn’t fight Louis taking control of the car. Somehow, he felt as though he couldn’t. So he just sat there, emptily staring at the night, and let Louis do whatever the fuck he wanted. He didn’t care anymore. His heart felt broken within his chest, and he wasn’t quite sure why.

“I used to come here as a kid, stupid as it sounds,” Louis said, softly.

Harry looked up to see that Louis had led the car onto a grassy verge just left of the play park. It slanted slightly, so much so that the entire of Smallville was visible, and from there the place really did seem _small_. The rooftops were cluttered together and kissed bright by the moonlight, and the cold puffed pale and endlessly from each of their mouths.

Louis looked vulnerable in the light. Young. He seemed to be watching Harry’s reaction very closely, his eyes shining bold and stark from beneath the shadows.

“It calms me.” He said, quietly. “Coming here. Reminds me of who I used to be.”

Harry said nothing, so Louis reached for his hand, and Harry let him take it. He felt as soft as he had earlier, but somehow, without the noise and rattle of the classroom, it felt more...intimate. Harry felt his eyes droop as Louis moved his fingertips back and forth, gently smoothing over the back of Harry’s palm. Harry really didn’t understand humans sometimes. He’d been so irritable and nasty...and yet, Louis was treating him like this.

He didn’t want it to stop.

Louis withdrew the touch after a few minutes, and wordlessly got out of the truck. When Harry turned to look at him, he was laying down flat on the back- hands flat on his chest, hair wild as he looked at the stars.

“Come on,” he breathed, so quiet that he knew Harry must’ve heard it.

Harry didn’t have a reason to disagree, confused as he was. The back of the truck was a lot more uncomfortable than he’d thought it’d be, and the corners were cluttered with hay from the last time they’d ordered in. When Harry lay down beside him, Louis smiled, and all of the confusion and pain felt instantly worth it. He had such a lovely smile. Harry wanted to immerse himself in it; wear it like a blanket.

“Tell me what you’re thinking of,” Louis said, and turned, so that his shoulder was flat on the truck floor, and his face was fully turned towards Harry.

“I’m thinking of running away,” Harry admitted. “How easy it would be. I could do it, right now, and they wouldn’t be able to stop me.”

“Harry, your parents...they just want what’s best for you,” Louis closed his eyes. “Some kids don’t have that luxury.”

His voice was heavy, but all Harry could think about was Suzanne’s face when he’d left. It had seemed so guilty, so torn...he didn’t know what to do.

“I’d just kill to have some freedom, Louis. I just- I’d kill just to fit in. To _live,_ for once. They’re always so overprotective about everything- it feels like I can barely breathe in that house,” Harry shook his head and looked away. “Usually I don’t care, and I love them to death, but...they’ve tried to stop me living my life for years just out of fear. I can’t abide by that anymore. I’m tired of it. I want to dictate my own life.”

Louis was silent for a while, his head slightly leaned onto Harry’s shoulder. Harry could hear his pulse, and the slow, tortured way his breaths began to arise.

“Parents are people,” he said, quietly. “Sometimes they just don’t get it right.”

“How would you know?” Harry stared into the endless sky.

Louis’ eyelashes batted softly; slowly, and for a moment all Harry could hear was the earth shattering pulse in his throat. “My parents had me for the child benefits and left me at my grandma’s doorstep when the debt got too much. I think I could write the _book_ on parents not getting it right.”

He laughed sarcastically, but there was no heart in it, and Harry drowned in guilt. Why hadn’t he put the pieces together sooner? There had always been something sad about Louis’ smile and the way he carried himself, and he knew not all of it was because of Stenlock...

“Louis…” Harry turned his head, and his chin brushed along the soft cambers of Louis’ hair. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

Louis shrugged. “It’s okay. Just bear it in mind it’s not the worst it can get, you know?”

He leaned fully onto Harry’s shoulder, and for a few minutes they lay there in a sweet, sorrowful sort of silence, each staring and thinking about something completely different. Harry had never had someone be this honest with him, or lay so close to him. It almost felt as though they’d briskly slipped into an intimacy from which they’d never recover. He’d never be able to _unfeel_ the way Louis felt in that moment; warm, placid, delicate, beside him. He’d never be able to erase the way Louis smelt from his mind, or forget how gently he blinked in the dark.

But that wasn’t a problem, because Harry never wanted to forget Louis. This was a fact he already knew, and a fact he would hold on to for the rest of his life.

“I want to help people, Louis.” Harry said. “I know it sounds stupid, but...I don’t want to sit by and do nothing when I could make a difference to people’s lives, you know?”

Louis smiled into the fabric of Harry’s shoulder, eyes slowly closing. He had acutely curved eyelashes, Harry noted; ones that seemed too sharp for his face.

“I know it’s stupid,” Harry hastened to add.

“It’s not stupid,” Louis blinked. “It’s just your _Harryness_ shining through.”

Harry shook his head, trying hopelessly to erase the smile on his face.

“Either that,” Louis mused. “Or you’re finally accepting your place in this world as a superhero…”

“The day I wear tights, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry batted him away. “Is the day I die.”

Louis wheezed in a laugh. Harry could tell he was getting tired, because Louis never wheezed, and when his head slumped fully against Harry’s shoulder he realised there was no better thing in the world.

“S’a shame,” Louis mused, closing his eyes- “You’d look bloody good in them.”

-

It was early morning when Harry got back home; his feet dragged along the grass, and he was unbelievably tired. He’d driven Louis home first. Then, he’d parked the car back where he’d found it, and taken all of the things he’d bought back to the store. He’d even x-rayed Edmund on the way in- but couldn’t help himself from lingering at the kitchen door.

Whenever he argued with his parents, there was always some sort of childish reluctance within him. Like talking to them again was...admitting something. This time, there was no slow admittance. There would be an apology, and then, Harry would be different. He was no longer the baby they hauled out of that meteor years ago. He was starting anew, and they could no longer hold him back.

The door jingled as he stepped inside of it. The kitchen lights were on, and Michael and Suzanne were sat at the table, holding hands and taut from worry. They looked up at him in unison, partly angry, and partly faint from relief.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Suzanne let out a small wailing gasp; Michael stood, and clasped her arms around him first. Harry didn’t know who started to cry first, but he knew that Suzanne had joined them no less than a second later- arms warm around his waist. He held them close to him- his family, his home- and regretted saying a word to hurt them in the first place.

“I know you love me,” he spoke, into Suzanne’s hair. “I’m dumb for even doubting it. I’m sorry.”

“We never meant to control you,” Suzanne wept, “We were just- so scared, H-”

“-We didn’t want to lose you,” Michael squeezed his shoulder. “But we never meant that to keep you from living, chuck. We never wanted you to be scared of that.”

“I know,” Harry mumbled, and he leaned onto them. “And I understand. It’s okay.”

He stepped away. For a moment the three of them stood there, weeping and wiping their eyes.

Then, Michael snorted, and they all began to chuckle at each other being so damn emotional. It was already better, Harry realised that, and knew that he would always do his best never to hurt them or himself again.

He removed his glasses, and wiped his eyes with the jumper beneath. “Oh, and Edmund’s pregnant.”

Suzanne dropped the cup in her hands, and Harry swooped in to catch it before it smashed on the floor. Even Michael seemed shocked beyond recognition: how had they not seen it before?  
  
“Really?” Suzanne gaped, as Harry put the cup on the side, “I- I- How?”

“I scanned her,” Harry explained, beaming.

“Took you bloody long enough,” Michael contributed, ruffling his hair and causing him to giggle.

Suzanne still looked confused behind them. “I mean, how did she...the baby…”

“Ohhh. I mean, it isn’t too hard to work out. Do you guys remember that cow that used to visit from the field across the road at our old house?” Harry grinned. “The big one? With the ugly splotches?”

Michael put her face in her hands. “That _bastard.”_

“I can’t believe it,” Suzanne began to clap. Her eyes were still red from crying, but right then, she was an expression of pure euphoria. “We’re gunna have a baby on the farm all over again! How lovely!”

“Lovely or not,” Michael rolled her eyes and put the kettle on. “Things’re certainly gunna be a lot different around here.”

 _Yes,_ Harry thought, on another subject entirely. _They are._


	6. Chapter 6

6: the red sun playlist

Louis didn’t have to ask Harry if he’d made up with his parents or not. When he saw him the next day, it was as though he was a different person altogether. His face was pale yet beautiful underneath the streetlights, and his pout formed a rose under the sunset.

They’d agreed to meet in the town centre, awash in the afterglow of the evening, and Louis came fresh from his veterinary shift. Harry was stood outside waiting for him in a deep indigo turtleneck, hands behind his back, and one thick curl tipping in front of the rest. When he saw Louis, he ran to greet him as though distance from him had proved unbearable.

“Hey,” he ushered, nearly tripping over his feet.

His stupid face split in stupid half, and for a moment Louis was hit with the sudden notion of how goddamn _good_ Harry looked. His fingertips were hidden by sloping sleeves. His curls were full and painted in the deepest, darkest chestnut, burning gold where the sparse streetlights made their wake. His nose was red and button-shaped under his glasses, which were as muggy and fingerprint ridden as they always were, and his lips...God, his lips. They were drawn in the most honest beam Louis had ever had the pleasure of witnessing.

“You’re...smiley,” Louis commented, but he couldn’t stop smiling himself. “Anything happen that I should know about?”

His body seemed to be forcing him into recognising Harry’s undeniable beauty against his will, and Louis wasn’t quite sure how he felt about it. All he knew was that all of a sudden, Harry looked fucking ethereal. Or had he just been unable to see it before?

“Nothing except a great night,” Harry said, simply, and they began to walk. “I made up with my parents. They forgave me, I think. But I also think I have you to thank for it.”

“Oh, please,” Louis snorted. “Don’t be silly. I didn’t do anything.”

“You brought me back,” Harry met his eye, and his gaze was so soft and sincere that Louis could’ve melted in it. “Calmed me down. If you’d let me just drive off- I don’t know what would’ve happened. What I would’ve done.”

His face fell quiet and guilty in contemplation. That was Harry’s problem right there: he was too damn impulsive. Louis sympathised in part, but when it came to Harry’s more controversial actions- for example, stealing the ball right from under Stenlock’s nose and stealing his parents’ car- he admitted that Harry was, at times, a little overdramatic. But so was _everyone_ sometimes; God only knew the sort of shit Louis got up to when he felt the world had wronged him. Harry needed to stop blaming himself for the cycles of what was, in essence, basic human nature.

“-Hey,” Louis interrupted, lightly bumping his arm. “Try not to dwell on it. I shit you not, I’ve tried way worse.”

“Way worse?” Harry wondered, and he fumbled with his sleeves. “As in- _way_ way worse?”

“As in _the worst,”_ Louis bit his lip. “Let’s just say it involved a lawnmower.”

“ _Lawnmower?_ You know you’re going to have to elaborate on that sometime,” Harry giggled, and swung his hands behind his back. “I like the pink, by the way.”

Louis snorted and gazed down at his unflattering attire. He was about to rise to his own defence (“ _I’m not sure anyone can look good in a pink polo shirt and purple trousers, thank you very much!”_ ) but swiftly realised that Harry’s gaze was not one of mockery. Instead, he appeared unexpectedly fond of Louis, his eyes warm and his expression soft, and the change was so sudden that for a moment Louis didn’t know what to say.

“I- my boss insists on it,” he laughed, nervously searching Harry’s eyes. “She likes to take her various Barbie-related frustrations from childhood out on others.”

“I think it suits you,” Harry smiled further. “I mean, as much as a bright hot pink polo could suit anyone.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Louis said, and grinned so sappily he despised himself. _Jesus._ “Anyway, I’m glad everything’s okay with your family, Farmboy.”

“Me too,” Harry smiled.

He reached for Louis’ obnoxiously floppy collar and began cackling wildly. For a moment they walked in unison, bickering over Louis’ polo. And then, lightning struck in Louis’ head, and he gaped in realisation as he held forwards the bag he’d been carrying ever since he left the veterinary.

A small frown fell upon Harry’s brow. “What’s this?”

“Long story short,” Louis said. “I was at the store earlier, and I got you a jacket. Thought you should complete your initiation into the denim jacket alliance, and all.”

Harry’s face fell weak with delight, and for a moment he stood frozen in shock, hands hovering. “Louis...I don’t know what to say.”

“That’s _Supreme Leader_ to you,” Louis placed the bag in his hands. “And don’t say anything. Just wear it.”

There was a pause, in which Harry tentatively removed the jacket from the bag, and slid it on as if it were the most precious thing in the world. If that alone didn’t melt Louis’ heart, seeing a teeny tiny denim jacket on Harry’s big, soft shoulders did the trick. He could’ve sworn he saw the rays of heaven radiating from Harry’s cheeks...or was that just his hormones talking?

“I- Do I look weird?” Harry flushed, obviously not sure what to do with his hands.

“Oh, yes,” Louis, unable to help himself, reached forwards and began to tuck Harry’s curls behind his ears. “That’s definitely why I’m staring. It’s ‘cos you look like a _douchebag.”_

Harry snorted at Louis’ impression, but didn’t move from the touch. Instead, he tilted his head, and almost leaned into it. Their eyes met.

“Maybe I’m just learning from the best,” he offered, so softly that it was barely audible.

All of a sudden, the moment felt intimate, and maybe just the slightest bit tense.  Louis could feel his heartbeat in his throat, and see nothing other than the careful blink of Harry’s eyelashes; the deep fern of his eyes. His face seemed so soft and so near, and Louis had the sudden urge to lower his hand and use it to push their faces together...but he couldn’t move. The tension was sudden and fierce and seemed to have almost pinned them both into a stunned and immovable silence. Louis’ hand resided in Harry’s hair, one of Harry’s curls wrapped around his thumb.

“Harry Edward Styles,” Louis spoke, pulse thundering in his ears. “Are you calling me a douchebag?”

Harry broke into a giddy grin and just like that, the moment was broken. Louis felt a multitude of things in that moment- relieved, dizzy, and yet a little bit disappointed. Out of all the things he thought he was going to experience with Harry that night, random and unexplained sexual tension was not on the list. His crotch felt strangely tight and uncomfortable; forming a sudden itch he needed to scratch.

“You’re many things, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry said, linking their arms together. “But a douchebag is not one of them.”

He either didn’t notice Louis’ plight, or didn’t seem to mind as he restarted their walk down the street, the light above them dimming upon unsettled clouds.

-

They ended up at the annual fair just left of the main street, because according to Louis, Harry hadn’t _lived_ if he hadn’t experienced the Smallville annual fair.

“It’s the best thing in the world.” Louis stated, deadpan. “Literally. You’ll like- spontaneously combust if you don’t go there, and I know it’s my responsibility as a citizen of Smallville to stop that from happening-”

Harry giggled wildly. “It’s not spontaneous if you know it’s going to happen.”

“Alright, then, smartypants,” Louis pointed a finger, and Harry nudged it with his nose.

Louis was hilarious when he was angry. Or even when he was playing stern. Harry could’ve framed the frown on Louis’ little face and hung it in the Louvre. It didn’t last long, but the best things in life never did. Louis’ faux frustration easily washed away when he met Harry’s eye, and melted into a pointy expression of glee.

By this point, they’d entered the fair, and Louis was too distracted by his childlike glee to comment on Harry’s inescapable retorts. His eyes doubled in size, and he took Harry by the hand, tugging them right into the heart of it all.

“This is the best popcorn stand in the entire world,” he claimed, face beaming with delight. “And yes- before you say different, that is a fucking fact. There’s a shit ton of food stalls down here,” he tugged Harry along the field, “where you can basically get any type of food you’d ever need in life for half the price and twice the value- and the candy floss. Good _God_ , the candy floss. You need to try some. Try some!”

Within seconds Louis was brandishing a massive stick of candy floss in Harry’s direction. Harry, blinking, didn’t quite know whether to accept it or laugh. His eyes fell wide.

“You sound like you’re sponsored.”

“I suppose if this whole journalism lark doesn’t work out, I’ll always have advertising.” Louis grinned as Harry took a bite from the stick. “How is it?”

Harry looked at Louis from behind the giant cloud of sugar, and chewed. “...Different to what I’m used to.”

“What,” Louis teased, biting his lip. “Your farm mommas got you on a strict diet of yeast or something?”

“I- I don’t even know where to begin with that statement,” Harry blinked, and Louis cackled in joy.

“I find myself funny, okay?” he defended, still laughing. “Gimme a break. I’m having an off day.”

“If this whole _advertising_ lark doesn’t work out,” Harry said, watching Louis giggle. “Don’t go into comedy.”

Louis beamed at that, shoving him, and nabbed the candyfloss from his hands.

They walked through the fair like that for a while, Louis placidly munching, and Harry just feeling the moment around them. The fair had taken place on a local playing field, and the grass underfoot was kissed by frost; rapidly melting as the sunset fell upon each strand. Stalls lined nearly every square inch of the field, and there were quite a few people there- each and every one huddled tight from the cold, immersed in culture or immersed in each other. It was a pleasant thing to see, and Harry felt himself feeling more happy than he’d ever been in his life.

He didn’t know where his place was on Earth, and wasn’t sure he’d ever know. All his life, Harry had never quite _fit in-_ not completely, not even around his own family, and certainly not in the company of his own thoughts. But walking through that field, he finally felt as though he was a part of _something-_ whether it be a community, or a friendship, or just something he could call his own.

And then there was Louis beside him. Happily humming to himself; completely unaware of how much he’d changed Harry’s life just by letting him in. Harry wanted him to know. He _had_ to let him know.

“Louis,” he breathed, watching the sunset dance over Louis’ eyes and lashes and a face so blissfully unaware of its own importance that Harry could’ve cried. “Hey.”

“Mm?” Louis didn’t look up. He was busy putting the remains of his candyfloss stick in the bin, detangling its errant strands from his arm.

“I- I just wanted to…” Harry didn’t know where to begin, and so he fell quiet.

His eyes became inexplicably drawn to Louis’ hands; how small and rounded they were, and such an appealing prospect to hold. The hairs on them were stood up, however, and if Harry focused hard enough, he could see the goosebumps on them, rushing up his entire arm like an endless undercurrent. _That’s Louis for you,_ he thought. Stubborn, stubborn Louis, who would rather walk butt naked into a snowstorm than accept any notion of warmth.

Harry just couldn’t help himself that day. Not when his urge to protect Louis ran so strong in him, not when he longed so desperately to feel close to someone. And so, in one fluid motion, he removed the jacket from his shoulders, and wrapped it carefully around Louis’.

Louis looked up at him in quiet, confused shock, and before he could do or say anything, Harry wrapped his arms around him as well. He held him softly, warmly- so that the jacket upon Louis’ shoulders did not move, and so he could very clearly hear the speeding hum of Louis’ heartbeat against his chest.

“Thank you for letting me belong,” Harry said, Louis’ hair pressed against his face.

He felt Louis close his eyes, and slowly, yet gently, bring his arms around the curve of Harry’s waist. He could hear the sounds of the fair all around them, but they didn’t matter. None of it mattered; he just wanted to hold Louis close, and keep him safe. To make sure he was happy.

“Hey,” Louis said, sweet and soundly against Harry’s shoulder. “You’re welcome, Farmboy.”

He squeezed Harry’s waist, and Harry closed his eyes, for the first time in his life feeling at home.

“You’re always welcome.”

-

“What do your parents call you?”

Harry looked up in confusion at Louis’ question. It seemed to have arisen completely out of the blue as they walked home, Harry’s jacket still wrapped snug around his shoulders.

“What do you mean?” Harry blinked. “Like- aside from Harry? My God-given name?”

“Yes, dumbo,” Louis teased, “like, nicknames and stuff. I want to have a nickname for you. A _proper_ one.”

Harry watched him for a moment, and smiled as the streetlights washed gold over his cheekbones. Louis had very pretty cheekbones, ones that Harry wanted to hold...God, what on Earth had come over him?

“Aside from _Farmboy,_ you mean,” Harry bit his lip. “Which, by the way, is the most uninspired insult I’ve had in awhile.”

“Oh, don’t play that card. You love it,” Louis teased, nudging him. “Come on, then. What do they call you?”

“It’s something like _Chuck_ or sweetheart, usually,” Harry mumbled. “I mean, there’s nothing really in them or anything. They’re sort of just- names.”

“They’re _cute_ names,” Louis cocked his head. “I mean- my nan calls me Lou sometimes. You could call me that if you wanted.”

Harry giggled. “Are you giving me _permission,_ Supreme Leader?”

“Jesus,” Louis closed his eyes. “You’re never gunna let that die, are you?”

“Nope,” Harry batted his eyelashes, and smiled happily into the sky. “I think I might just call you that from now on.”

“Well, I gotta say,” Louis ran his hands through his hair in mock frustration. “You’re a lot more devious than I first thought you’d be, Mr Styles.”

Harry flushed pink, looking at him. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Dunno,” Louis grinned to himself. “What do you think?”

“I think it means we match, _Lou,_ ” Harry nodded in satisfaction, and for a moment Louis swung on his heels, completely in awe of him.

His eyes were wrinkled and soft, and his lips were drawn into the most stark smile of fondness Harry had ever seen. His heart was beating incredibly fast, and Harry could tell from his posture alone that he was pleased. No- it felt more than pleased. It felt like raw adoration coming from Louis, and for a moment Harry’s stomach dropped to the ground.

“I like short nicknames,” Louis decided, breaking the moment. “I mean, Farmboy’s good, but there’s only so many syllables I can say in a day before I spontaneously combust-”

Harry chuckled. “-Again, it’s not spontaneous if you know it’s going to happen-”

“-So I think I’ll go for H. Har? Ha? Nah, I’ll go for H. Sounds nice, right?”

“It sounds like something a lazy person would say,” Harry nodded, cheeks flushed. “So, yeah. Perfect.”

“Fuck you,” Louis shoved him, cackling in the cold, “I’ll have you know I spend ninety percent of my school nights working on whatever shite article Crofter’s set me on, and that’s not to mention the essays and homework that we get set on top-”

Harry bent double, caught off guard.

A sharp noise had filled his ears, and he clamped his hands over them in an attempt to accommodate it. It wasn’t that Harry hadn’t been listening to Louis’ speech- the opposite was true- but the sound that hit him in that moment was so strong that he felt paralysed.

He must’ve closed his eyes and started to yell, because the next thing he heard was-

“Harry! _Harry!”_

And the next thing he felt was Louis’ hands, patting up and down his face in frantic motion.

“Hey,” he commanded, eyes wide. “Hey. Can you hear me? Harry?”

“-I’m fine,” Harry gritted. God, it was a pain to do anything in such a state, let alone open his eyes. He managed to pry them open just long enough to register the confusion on Louis’ face, and then continued to hiss in pain. “How can you stand it? The noise?”

Louis’ face crumpled in a frown. _“What_ noise?”

The screech got louder than ever all of a sudden, and then, a car came barreling around the corner, ploughing right towards the pavement- and them.

Harry reacted just fast enough to barge into Louis, moving him out of the way- and the next thing he knew they were both on the ground, laying stunned on the road; the deafening sounds of a crash filling the air. Harry was so stunned in that moment that he could’ve sworn the universe stopped existing; his entire body paralysed with shock.

It was Louis’ voice that brought him back, that sweet, crackling sound- familiar vibrations that towed Harry back to familiar harbour. He began to blink, trying to separate the various noises in his head, trying to focus on one alone...

“Har, Har- Harry,” he heard Louis stammer, eyes wide and hair wild.

Suddenly, the world flew back into motion. Harry was on top of Louis. He was also shaking- his earlobes were rattling, and something inside of him was swiftly plunging into panic.

“Harry, H,” Louis pleaded, and his hands were clutching at Harry’s shoulders. “Harry. The car. It- it’s crashed.”

“Are you okay?” Harry managed to say. He felt numb, almost, barely recognising Louis’ presence beneath him.

Louis was still grasping for Harry’s shoulders, and it felt partly out of desperation, and mostly out of a fear that had taken hold of his entire being. For the second time in all of the weeks Harry had known him, Louis looked completely out of his element, and shaken completely to the core.

“I’m fine, but Harry-” Louis continued- “The car. I think- I think there’s people in there.”

Harry leaned up with weak limbs, and turned to see that the car had ploughed into a corner shop just along the road. The shop itself looked abandoned- Harry couldn’t quite tell- but the entire front of the car was inside of the shop window, and there was a fire crackling at the front of the bonnet.

“Holy shit,” Harry breathed.

His mind felt as though it was in a haze, and his movements heavy and slow, as if underwater. Without thinking, he got up, and stumbled weakly towards the car. His mind felt numb, his arms cold as he scanned the wreckage- one person in the front seat, and a child, wailing, in the back.

Harry was shot with nerves, and for a moment, just stood there- staring at the girl, and the fire, and the smoke, and his petrified reflection in the car bonnet-

-But then he heard Louis’ heartbeat, metres away, thunderous and never ending...and it somehow brought him back. It _centred_ him, almost- and he was able to fight his tears of stress just long enough to clamp his hands upon the steel, warm and supple under his touch.

“Hey,” he stammered, as the child continued to cry. “Hey. Hey. It’s okay. Your mummy’s gunna be alright.”

Harry lifted the door clean from the car with relative ease, the screeches like a drill to his sensitive ears. The girl was still crying as Harry lifted her from the back of the car, ripping the safety seat clean from the leather, and rushed her back to Louis, who was still laying dazed on the road.

“Call an ambulance,” Harry said, placing the safety seat in Louis’ baffled hands.

He didn’t wait for an answer before running back, the fire growing rapidly upon the bonnet, and the driver hunched over the wheel, unconscious. Harry noted with a feeling of sickness in his stomach that there was blood trickling from her forehead. He ripped the door from its hinges, and snapped the seatbelt in half.

She still didn’t wake.

“Hey,” he said, shaking her shoulder. “Hey. Come on.”

He began to panic once more, thinking that he’d killed her- rapid uncertainty dancing all over his spirit and confidence. Harry breathed in and forced himself to _focus:_ focus past the crackle of the flames and the trembling of his hands. To concentrate, not on the fear in his chest, but to a person who severely needed his help. To her daughter, who sat metres away in tears. It was only then that he strained his ears enough to hear her heartbeat: weak and faint, but there nonetheless.

Harry suppressed the urge to celebrate and instead pulled her out of the wreckage, bringing her alongside Louis on the road.

“It’s on its way,” Louis said. He sounded a little stunned, as if his mind and body were in two completely different places at once. “The ambulance, I mean. I mean- I got the fire service too, ‘cos like, I didn’t really know what to-”

“Louis,” Harry said, reaching for him, “I- it’s okay. It’s fine.”

Louis nodded, mutely, and removed the jacket around his shoulders to prop it under the woman’s head. By that point a small crowd had began to gather, and it was about a minute later that the loud wail of an ambulance had joined them too. They asked the normal questions _\- what happened? Are you hurt? Do you know them? What state did you find them in?_ \- and Harry tried his best to answer. Mostly, he just felt _scared_. He’d never done anything like that before, had never planned on doing so- and was mostly just certain he’d managed to fuck things up for everyone involved.

-

Even as the ambulance soared down the street, worry continued to somersault in Harry’s stomach. He felt like he should’ve _done_ more. He felt as though he should’ve _heard_ the car crashing around the corner earlier- _known_ what it was instinctively, instead of just writhing in pain because it hurt his ears, like a stupid little boy. Because of him, a kid could’ve lost a parent, and because of him, an entire shop was ruined beyond repair…God, why didn’t he just act faster? Why did he constantly have to be so stupid and dumb and passive?

Louis must’ve sensed his thoughts, because he came rushing to him as soon as the ambulance left, and gripped his arm, tight. The entire area had been cut off with yellow tape, and they’d been told to leave the area, but somehow- Harry couldn’t. He couldn’t stop watching the stark image of his failure.

“Harry,” Louis mumbled, squeezing his arm. “Hey. It isn’t your fault.”

“I heard the car lose control earlier,” Harry said, face numb. “That was the noise I was reacting to. And like- when I was over there- my eyes just started watering and my hands just started to shake, and I froze, and because I froze they were in more danger than before, and-“

“-Farmboy, you did your best,” Louis’ eyes were almost accusatory. “Stop being stupid.”

“I can’t,” Harry ground his jaw in silent agony. “If I’d just gotten to her earlier-”

He was silenced: for Louis’ hand had come to grip his face, and it was cold. Most importantly, it forced Harry’s gaze down to Louis’ own, which was intensely blue and fierce, and certainly not putting up with Harry’s ramblings for any longer then he had to.

“Now is not the time to feel sorry for yourself, okay?” Louis hissed, quiet but clear. “There were so many things that could’ve gone wrong there. But they didn’t. And I’m sure that little girl wouldn’t want you drooling all over feeling sorry for yourself because you’re not fucking _Hercules._ Because you saved her life no matter what, and you saved her mum no matter what- so stop dwelling on it, okay? Stop.”

He was reciting this passionately- _heavily-_ as if there was some hidden power pushing the words up and out of his mouth. He seemed gripped with an emotion that looked a lot like rage, but Harry could tell, instinctively, that that wasn’t the case. He sighed, eyes low. He supposed Louis did have a point, but it just wasn’t in Harry’s character to accept victory without blame. Louis must’ve seen this too, because he shook his head, and tucked a fat curl out of Harry’s eyes.

“I can’t, I just-” Harry fell blank in shock. “I just- I feel-”

 _Vulnerable._ Like he left a part of him inside of that burning car. Like things were suddenly too real and close for comfort. Like a sudden numbness had taken over him.

He wanted to do so many things in that moment: apologise, cry, turn back time- but all he could do was stare at Louis in muted, guilty shame.

His heart was on the ground.

“I know,” Louis said, and he removed the hand from Harry’s face. “I know. I get it.”

It felt weird, being so serious with Louis. Harry could recognise it, but he certainly couldn’t concentrate on it right now. Mostly, he just wanted to go home. And so he wrapped his arm around Louis’ trembling shoulders, wrestled his own heartbeat into calm, and forced himself to walk.

-

Things were different somehow.

Louis couldn’t quite put his finger on what or why. But at school the next day, Harry seemed skittish, overtly so, and determined to scan every single face that passed them. English Lit was unbearable because of this fact, and also because every single time Louis did anything vaguely clumsy, Harry was there, eyes wide and hands outstretched.

He dropped his pen about halfway through the class, and didn’t even have time to speak before Harry was there, scooping it up with a skittish rush that didn’t suit him. Louis was used to Harry’s movements being slow, clumsy and over thought- but ever since the night before he had been acting incredibly strange, as if a sudden paranoia bloomed in his gut.

“Hey, hey hey,” he frowned, tone almost scolding. “It’s okay. It’s just a pen, Haz.”

Louis wasn’t quite sure where that nickname had come from- it just sort of left his mouth. Harry didn’t seem to notice or mind, though. He was too busy putting the pen back in Louis’ hands and fidgeting nonsensically beneath the table.

“I know it’s just a pen,” Harry rambled, manically twiddling his thumbs. “It’s just that-”

He stopped, lips growing small. Louis looked at him with a mixture of concern and despair.

“-I just feel like something’s going to happen,” Harry said, eventually, face laboured. “Everywhere I turn. And if I’m not on the lookout- things could go wrong.”

“Harry- Why on Earth would you think that?” Louis frowned. God- he could be so damn ridiculous sometimes. “You’re not some kind of disaster magnet, you know.”

Harry scowled at himself, shaking his head. The sweater he was wearing that day had patches on the elbows, and sat loosely upon shoulders twisted tight with tension. Louis wished he could soothe him, but he didn’t know how. Louis was good at two things: getting what he wanted, and retracting so far into his own pride that he’d rather suffocate than accept a helping hand back to the surface.

What he wasn’t good at was _fixing_ things. Harry had gotten himself into quite the conundrum of identity, and Louis wasn’t sure if it was his place to tell Harry what he should or shouldn’t do, or what he should or shouldn’t be thinking.

He just wanted his Harry back.

“That - that’s not what I meant,” Harry bit, and pulled his sleeves taut over his knuckles. “This sounds stupid, but I can’t help thinking that I- I was given these powers for a reason. And when you can do what I can, and spend your life suppressing it- when things happen, they happen _because_ of you. They happen because I couldn’t get over myself for two seconds when someone needed my help. When someone needed _me._ I can’t spend my life ignoring this. When I do, people get hurt. When I do, it just gets worse.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid, H,” Louis murmured, softly bringing his hand to rest upon Harry’s forearm. “I understand the way you’re feeling. But the answer isn’t- this.”

Harry watched Louis’ hand atop his arm for a moment, and then brought his own up to join it. His eyelashes fluttered as he spoke. “I don’t know what the answer is.”

-

Harry thought about it all day, even on the way out to the bus, by which point he’d spent at least five hours in a complete and utter daze. He could tell Louis was worried about him, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the family in the car, and all of the ways it could’ve gone wrong. About the endless amounts of people who’d needed his help, like they did, that he hadn’t been able to save. All of the time he’d wasted in the shadows. He didn’t blame his parents for it- he understood, he really did- but now all he could think about was his own cowardice. He’d spent so long in the dark he wasn’t quite _sure_ how to approach the light.

“Oi,” a thick, brash voice said. “Styles.”

Harry turned on the spot. Beside him, standing next to his locker with a repulsed expression on his face, was none other than Stenlock Marsden. He had his orc-like face drawn in a snarl, and was doing his best to overshadow Harry where he stood.

It proved difficult: Harry had rather wide shoulders.

“What’s up with you and Tomlinson?” Stenlock asked, and he looked as though he had sour milk in his mouth.

“Louis?” Harry reached into his own locker, completely confused at the conversation at hand. “Nothing. We’re just friends.”

“Just friends,” Stenlock drew closer. _“Just friends_ don’t hang out all of the time. Looking close. Chatting everywhere. I saw you two at the fair.”

“That’s nice,” Harry said, forced optimism in his tone. “You should’ve said hi.”

He closed his locker and tried to walk past, but Stenlock took ahold of his shoulders and shoved him, roughly, into a nearby corridor. Harry grimaced as his glasses slipped down his nose, but he wasn’t scared. Men like Stenlock simply failed to put a chill in his spine anymore.

“Don’t _play_ with me, Styles,” Stenlock said, roughly yanking at the collar of Harry’s sweater. “What’s your deal? Something’s off with you…”

Harry didn’t answer, staring him down with a steely cold glare, and in response Stenlock shoved him further against the wall.

“I didn’t hear an answer, there, Styles,” he growled, and seemed to be rather confused as to why his regular tactics weren’t working. “My friends all saw you at the bottom of the pitch before you moved. There was no way in Hell you could’ve gotten to the ball so fast.”

“Maybe I just trained,” Harry wheezed, and Stenlock let go of him.

“What is it?” Stenlock pressed. “Steroids? Drugs?”

“Neither!” Harry said, and he pretended to rub his arm as if Stenlock’s grip had actually hurt him, “Jesus- you really can’t stand that someone might be better than you, can you?”

A pause. Vulnerability, harsh and rough, trickled down Stenlock’s expression.

“If you think you’re the first little twat that’s tried to rise from the bottom to the top by joining the football team, you’re wrong,” he hissed, eyes dark. “So listen here.”

He jutted a fingertip into Harry’s chest, as patronising as possible.

“I don’t give a flying fuck how fast you are. Or wherever the hell you came from. Whether you and Tomlinson are in this together on some _agenda_ or whatever- I don’t care. That team, that _place-_ it’s my entire life. And I’m not above shoving some _heads_ down the toilet to keep it.”

Harry would’ve felt intimidated if he weren’t already so fucking frustrated with himself. His grip on his books was vice-like, carving a dent into delicate cover upon cover, and with his patience with Stenlock running thin...he once more tried to get past.

Stenlock stopped him with a hand to the chest.

“I’m serious, _four-eyes,”_ he insisted. “I can make your life a living hell.”

“Try it,” Harry commanded, suddenly loud. “Come on- why don’t you just _try_ it?”

Stenlock’s face suddenly went pale, and Harry felt himself quickly growing angry. He fought the urge to let his eyes burn, and instead tried to focus on the fear dwindling in Stenlock’s expression. When Harry stepped away, Stenlock’s hand fell slack from his chest- that false, macho attitude washing away. He looked like a child in a big boy’s shoes, suddenly out of his element- and all the more sorrier for it.

“Don’t come near me or my friends again,” Harry warned, eyebrows low. “If you do- I’ll know.”

-

Louis was angry.

Mostly because Harry was so late out to the bus stop that they’d missed the bus, but equally as angry at himself for not being able to leave him. So, he cared for Harry, alright? Sue him. He didn’t exactly feel good at the idea of leaving Harry on his own when he hadn’t been feeling his best.

So, when Harry trudged up to the bus stop a whole twenty minutes late, Louis was all but ready to demand an explanation (it _was_ cold, after all). But then, he saw Harry’s face- red in places, blotchy from crying- and his anger dissipated in waves. All he could do was run up to Harry and tug him down into a hug, arms tight around his shoulders.

“What the hell happened?” Louis asked, hand flat on Harry’s back. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“You should’ve gotten on the bus, Lou,” Harry murmured, chin moving atop Louis’ shoulder.

“A _Supreme Leader_ does not abandon his troops, okay?” Louis said, finally letting go of him. “Even in the shittiest of weather.”

He studied Harry’s face for a moment, hoping to find an answer there. The fact that he’d avoided the question and ignored the joke did not go unnoticed, but Louis was more confused by the books in Harry’s hands. The one at the top was severely misshapen, and Louis realised with a strike of sadness that the dent in it was _hand shaped..._

His eyebrows fell low. “Oh, Farmboy...”

“It’s fine,” Harry mumbled, cheeks reddening. “It’s _okay,_ okay? We can...we can talk about it later.”

“If you’re sure,” Louis frowned, _very_ unsure.

He stared at the book cover for a moment, having never seen anything like it in his entire life. Harry just sighed, resigned, and rubbed at his already bloodshot eyes.

“I mean, denting books, right?” Louis laughed, hoping to alleviate Harry’s sadness. “Who even does that?”

Silence fell. Louis knew what the normal Harry would’ve said: “me, apparently,” accompanied with a sheepish giggle and a hand in the air. But this Harry just looked away in defeat.

Louis closed his eyes in sheer, unavoidable embarrassment. He really hated himself sometimes. His desire to dip everything in comedy often left a bitter taste in the mouths of friends and enemies alike, and was undoubtedly going to ruin his life someday.

Today would not be that day.

“Come on,” Louis took Harry’s hand when there still came no answer, and began to guide him down frosted pavements, the buzz of the school still around them. “Forget the books for a second. I’ve got something to show you.”

-

Whereas Harry’s house was a big, old family ranch, Louis’ house could not have been less similar. It was a deep blue bungalow, with a small garden out front and a large tree out back. For some reason Louis couldn’t explain, Harry’s reaction to it felt very important. And so when it rose in fresh delight, spreading like wildfire and ending in a dimpled beam upon Harry’s cheeks, Louis couldn’t have been happier.

“You live in my dreams,” Harry muttered, and pride flushed Louis pink.

He led Harry up to the porch, by which point Ralph started barking. Louis didn’t even have time to warn Harry before he opened the door- the second it did, Ralph was there in an explosion of fluff all around them, jumping in vivid elation.

Harry, obviously unsure of what to do, shrunk against the wall. “You...You have a dog?”

“It would seem so,” Louis smiled, laughing as Ralph licked his face. The heights the dog could reach were ridiculous.

He was a giant black Tibetan Mastiff, capable of filling up the entire house at once, and Granny Viv’s partner in crime now that Louis was _all grown up._ Louis loved the dog to pieces, but admitted that sometimes, he got a little _...too much._ Harry seemed to mirror this sentiment exactly.

“He’s lovely,” Harry forced, evidently uncomfortable.

Ralph excitedly moved onto him, panting and trying to lick- and Harry just moved further and further into himself. Harry never struck Louis as much of a dog person, so it made sense. Nevertheless, he managed to yank Ralph away, and distract him with the promise of treats while he and Harry made their way down the corridor.

“Sorry about the barking,” Louis grimaced, as Ralph continued to run happy little circuits between rooms- “he’s a little loud, sometimes. Unreasonably excitable.”

“Reminds you of anyone?” Harry poked his back, and Louis snorted.

“Not on the shedding front, I hope,” Louis sent him a glare, and it was Harry’s turn to laugh.

He led Harry to the room at the end of the corridor- his room- and instantly regretted the fact that he’d neglected its upkeep for so long. It was _incredibly_ untidy- his entire floor hidden under a layer of misplaced clothes, the air trickling from the open skylight tousling all of his paperwork, his bed unmade and his duvet crumpled. Given all of this, he wouldn’t have been surprised if Harry’s immediate reaction had been one of pure disgust.

But it wasn’t. From the moment he laid eyes on the room, Harry was beaming. And then, he was giggling, cheeks flushed as he explored, examining various things. Louis’ wonky globe of the world seemed to be a particular favourite. And he loved the flags on the ceiling, and the way you could see all of the clouds through the skylight. Most apparently, he loved Louis’ bookcase. No sooner than he’d seen it he was over there fumbling with it, fingertips running over the various spines.

“So this is where you keep your nerd books,” he teased.

“Hey, I’ll have you know this is not only the _least_ nerdy collection of comics in the world, but the best,” Louis raised an eyebrow. “Stan Lee ain’t got shiz on me, son.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Harry smiled, and he began to gently filter through one of the comics from the bookcase. “ _Squirrel Girl?_ Really?”

“She’s amazing,” Louis took a seat on the floor, toying with a cushion he found there. “I mean, sure- cheesy name. But the best superheroes come with them.”

Harry sat beside him, comic still in his hands, “What would mine be, then?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Louis grinned, watching the flutter of Harry’s eyelashes. “You can’t just put me on the spot with a question like that, Farmboy! These things take time.”

Harry smiled, but there was no heart in it, and for a quiet moment he just sat there, eyes on the comic but also somewhere else, his fingertips nudging at the corners.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Louis asked. He couldn’t help himself- he was fighting every urge in him to shower Harry’s face in kisses. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

“I-I know I can.” Harry seemed hesitant.

Louis couldn’t help but push. _“But…?”_

A pause. Harry trapped a very pink lip between his teeth and looked down once more, eyebrows scrunched in frustration. His green eyes had taken on a different form- a darker, more vivid one, and it made his gaze appear all the more foggy.

“I just don’t know what I’m becoming,” Harry admitted, and his voice rang awfully quiet. “I was just with Stenlock.”

“What?” Louis pressed, the news like lightning to his spine. “Why? What did he do?”

“Nothing, really,” Harry shrugged. “He just tried to intimidate me about the football team thing. It wasn’t that bad, but I’d just had such a shit day and I- I snapped. I threatened him. And I don’t know. I got so angry I could’ve just-”

He made a vague motion with his hands, and Louis instantly understood. Stenlock made him feel like that inside, too.

“I would’ve never,” Harry added, quickly. “But I wanted to. I’ve never _wanted_ to, before.”

“Maybe you’ve just had enough,” Louis mused.

“Maybe,” Harry looked away. “But if the Harry who’s _had enough_ acts like that, then I don’t want to be him. I want to be someone else.”

For a moment they sat in silence, Harry staring into the distance, and Louis watching every pulsing movement of Harry’s face. For once in his life, he hadn’t a clue of what to say.

“It’s okay,” Harry murmured. “I’m not expecting advice. I’m just- I wanted to explain it to you.”

“I know,” Louis played with Harry’s hand, running his finger tips slowly over the knuckles. “I get it. I really do get _everything_ , H. Things are shit for me too.”

“At least your steps don’t leave craters,” Harry offered.

“Okay, so there’s not that, I guess-” Louis shrugged. “But literally everyone except from- what, three people? Hate me at school. Mr. Crofter was sent from the future to massacre my career as a journalist before it’s even begun, Stenlock spends every waking minute trying to get me to hate myself, and I spend my nights either slaving away at the vets, writing articles nobody’ll read, or at football practice, in a team where nobody speaks to me. Hell, the most contact I have there is when they pass the fucking ball. So I understand the frustration. You’re just better at controlling it than I am.”

“I’m not too sure about that.” Harry’s eyes fell low. “You’ve stayed in the team all this time. I don’t know how you can stand it.”

“Pettiness, I suppose,” Louis shrugged again. “It pisses them off that I stay, so I do. The looks on their faces are way worth the trouble.”

He rotated Harry’s hand in his, not quite holding it, but instead focusing on the little details- the soft, pale knuckles, slightly blushed pink; the slender curve of the fingers; the palm, which was large yet soft, unbothered by the countless years of farm work.

“Then again, if you were to join it _would_ lighten my burden a little…” Louis bit his lip. “We could reign supreme against them, like a modern day _Bonnie and Clyde._ Sticking it to the man and pissing off the privileged, one match at a time.”

“I- I’m not sure that’s how the _Bonnie and Clyde_ story went,” Harry giggled. “At all.”

“Still,” Louis held out his other hand. “Whatcha say, Farmboy?”

Harry laughed; it seemed that, finally, the saddened shell around Harry had cracked, and through being ridiculous alone, Louis had reversed the patchy red monster of sadness previously holding him hostage.

Harry continued to laugh. “Doing things out of spite isn’t really my style.”

“So?” Louis nudged him. “Let’s take a walk on the wild side.”

“How?”

“Well, we can start by getting off the ground,” Louis winked. “Hell, fuck it. Let’s dance. Come and dance with me.”

Harry just scoffed. “With what music?”

“With _what_ music?” Louis shook his head. “Please. I’ll show you _with what music.”_

He sprung to his feet, letting go of Harry’s hands, and walked over to the radio balancing precariously upon his dresser. The thing he was looking for was on the fourth shelf down from it, under a thick stack of all of the mixtapes he’d made before. It didn’t take him long to find it, especially as it was in a bright red case, and had the stench of procrastination all over it.

“This is the thing I was gunna show you,” he offered, holding it out. “It’s a playlist I made. A playlist of us. I mean, I was gunna give it to you later, so it’s sort of incomplete, but...I want you to hear it. And I want us to dance.”

Harry rose to his feet, curiosity marked with a frown. “The _red sun_ playlist?”

Louis flushed. “Is it cheesy? I’m sorry if it’s cheesy. It’s just a phrase I remembered from one of the things on your walls. Of course, I can change it if it’s too _personal_ or something, but-”

“No,” a smile dawned on Harry’s face. “Keep it. I-I like it this way.”

Louis beamed, and with that, slid the disc into the radio. There was a moment’s crackling, and then _Come on Eileen_ started blasting, the opening tones already casting sunlight onto Louis’ heart. It was a song that carried so many emotions and memories for him, and it was with that note that he began wildly jiggling and kicking his legs from side to side, the beat carrying him with all he’d ever needed.

Harry just looked...baffled. But Louis’ happiness turned out to be infectious, and it was such a vein of feeling that he took Harry’s hands in his, tugging him happily into the frantic bubble of song. They were both terrible, terrible dancers. But in the moment, neither of them seemed to care. Harry was laughing, and Louis was swinging about as if the music had a direct link to his spine. It didn’t matter that Louis was doing a windmill with his arms, or that Harry was making the floor shake as he moved. In that very moment, Louis was a part of Harry’s soul, and Harry was a part of Louis’. And neither of them were alone to themselves; they were one and the same, just spinning, spinning, spinning...

-

Harry didn’t want to go home.

Partly because he felt infinite ever since he’d left Louis’ place. Partly because Louis’ grandma caught them dancing and demanded that he stay for tea. And mostly because the high of the night was still burning bright in his veins, and he knew that if he went home, he’d be sent right to bed, or told to tend the farm or look after the cows. Quite frankly, he was growing tired of being told what to do. He was tired of having to hold back, whether it was to impress his parents, or fit in at school, or make as little of a mess as possible. He was tired of being _caged_.

And then he was there, standing alone in the moonlight, and the temptation of freedom felt all too enchanting to resist. Glancing around, the streets were dark and peaceful, and there was not a soul in sight to remind Harry of his responsibilities as a son, or as a Kryptonian…

So, fuck it. He flew.

It was dark up there, and as Harry shot into the sky he felt himself become rapidly bewildered by the night, and the stars, and the cold cold clouds. His breaths became rapid, and for a moment he wavered in the air; limbs wobbling in misbalance. But, a few metres up, he forced himself to calm, and instead of following his urge to fly straight upward, he landed on the roof of a nearby garage, and listened to the rushing beat of his heart.

Harry was not usually one to chase rebellion to get what he wanted, and therefore decided to take it slow. _Roof first,_ he decided, _sky later._ Staying out past his curfew was already an incredibly rebellious act in Harry’s eyes. The wind on his skin made it feel so _real._ Like he didn’t have to follow anyone else’s rules anymore. Like, if he wanted, he could go wherever the hell he wanted, making sure nothing like that car crash ever happened again. Never letting another person who needed him down.

He could be _faster_ this time. And so he crossed his legs on top of the rooftop, staring quietly into the night, and waited for trouble to arrive.

-

Nothing out of the ordinary happened for the first two hours of sitting, so Harry ended up doing homework, and thinking about how good Louis had been to him. Sure, he was a dickhead at times, and treated irritating people like a hobby- but he’d helped Harry belong somewhere, he’d kept his secret, and had known exactly how to raise Harry’s spirits on several occasions.

It had been a wild few weeks. Back in his old town, Harry would’ve been burning holes into the walls in frustration by now. But around Louis, there was no such compulsion. Harry wanted to _live_ around him rather than flee, an emotion with which he had little experience.

(He liked it, though. A lot.)

At about one am, trouble struck. Harry was on the last page of his homework, borderline falling asleep, when his ears picked up voices a couple of streets down. Leaning closer made the sounds clearer, almost too clear for comfort-

_“What’s taking you so long? The money’s all there!”_

Harry squinted in attention, the conversation seeming too good to be true. His ears began to zone in on the noise.

_“How am I meant to know? I’m not exactly a walking calculator, am I?”_

_“I thought you people were meant to trust each other and shit.”_ _  
_

_“Man, this really is your first drug deal, isn’t it?”_

A drug deal. _Sweeeet._ Harry felt oddly excited at the notion of catching these people unaware, so he leaped up and flew closer, his backpack tied snug around his shoulders. There were about four people in the alleyway, all wearing masks- and if Harry focused hard enough, he could hear their breathing.

He could see the bags in their hands.

 _“Just hurry up and do it, man,”_ the nervous one said. He appeared to be the buyer, and was wringing his hands with anxiety that seemed familiar…

Ah well.

Harry waited until they had fully turned his back from him, and then he leapt down into the alleyway, hands on his hips.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he grunted, in the most intimidating voice he could muster.

They jumped in unison, and the one with the money in his hands started to run- Harry’d caught him before he’d even taken a step, holding him in the air by the hood.

“What the fuck?” the man wailed, legs wiggling in the air.

It was at that point that Harry realised he didn’t really have a plan.

The man moved to hit him, only to grimace sourly when his fist cracked on Harry’s chest. Another man ran up from behind, hitting him in the ribs- this, too, had a similar reaction.

“He’s got some kind of vest on, man!” the one with the crumpled fist whimpered. “Get him in the legs!”

The third man ignored this and went back for the money, which Harry held out of reach, realising that the fourth man had made it all of the way to the street. He rushed to correct this, but soon found himself with three very angry drug dealers swarming him, each one trying to get back a piece of the money.

“Get off!” Harry scowled, pushing them away. He really should’ve asked for a crash-course in superheroics from Louis beforehand...because it really wasn’t as easy as it looked.

Whilst the rest of the men were stumbling blindly around him, Harry set his sights on the fourth, who had stopped running, and was watching the events of the alley, frozen in shock. An easy target, then. Maybe, if Harry rounded them all up, he could find a rope to tie them with and leave them outside of the police department, like vigilantes always did in the movies…

But as Harry stood, one of the dealers did as well. “Man, _fuck_ this.”

He held out his hand, and for a moment Harry thought he was surrendering. Then, there was a sickening _crack_ in the air, and Harry fell to the ground for reasons he knew not.

The next thing he realised was there was a bullet in his fucking chest.

 _Oh,_ he thought, slipping out of consciousness, _that’d explain it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can listen to the red sun playlist [here!](https://open.spotify.com/user/7a3y5olug9wmh9jy0fhkrsdmb/playlist/3Bpr6hc0BK136FbB9hPmYF?si=kZt4EUuMTUuTlaOx_KeStA)


	7. Chapter 7

7: capes, smiles, and other dangerous, crinkled things

Louis was having a grand old time doing his homework at ass o’clock in the morning when Harry came crashing in through his window. And he literally did come _crashing._ He must’ve pried the window open from the outside and just sort of _vaulted_ in, because he made the loudest noise in the world when he hit the carpet, and Louis flew right off his seat in shock.

“Ho-ho-holy fuck!” he hissed, panting on the floor- _“Harry?!”_

Louis clamped his hands over his mouth and tried to understand what exactly he was looking at.

The window was wide open, the curtain flapping wildly, and through it, the moonlight was shining directly onto Harry’s curls, which were dishevelled and wild upon his face. He’d landed in a rather awkward position, which meant his cheeks were squished up on the carpet, and his bum was hanging in the air, his noodle legs twisted and dangling. The only noise he made in response to Louis was a trembling groan, to which Louis kneeled beside him in shock.

“What is this?” he asked, eyes wide. “What the fuck _happened?”_

Harry whimpered and rolled onto his back. His arms were all floppy, his expression was in a grimace, and, most importantly, there was a bullet hole in the centre of his sweater.

Holy fuck. _There was a bullet hole in the centre of his sweater._

“Is that-” Louis began, completely freaking out; his heart thundering and his mind a blur.

Harry panted, eyes rolling shut, body radiating pure stress and exhaustion. It must have been contagious, because at the sight of it, Louis’ shoulders went rigid with shock, and he tried to slow down the rate at which his mind was jumping to conclusions.

It didn’t work.

“I- I-” Harry gritted, voice all rough. “Need. Need you t’c-check it.”

“I...” Louis just stared blankly at Harry’s strained face. “I can’t just-”

He tapered off, emitting a few shivering breaths in shock. Harry was still on the floor, torso trembling, and his face pale in rapture. He seemed more exhausted than anything else, fingers slowly edging towards Louis’ wrist.

“Lou,” he insisted.

“No,” Louis shook his head. “No. I’m not.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from the hole in the sweater, emphasised by the moonlight. Couldn’t help but feel shock freeze him solidly in place. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, and most importantly, he couldn’t even begin to rationalise or understand what was happening.

Something stupid inside of Louis had assumed that Harry _couldn’t_ be hurt like this. That, because he could do all of the things he could, it automatically meant that he was too strong to cry. Too strong to leave. The truth was a lot more daunting and close for Louis’ comfort, and so he just stared and stared and stared, willing his brain to quiet.

“-Don’t know where else to go,” Harry whispered, eyes glossy. “Parents...Parents would worry.”

“Really!” Louis’ voice reached new heights. “No _shit!”_

He continued to stare in fear at Harry’s sweater. Harry was going to die, wasn’t he? He was going to fucking die right here right in front of him on the carpet, and the poor bastard really came to Louis for help, he really came to Louis thinking he’d be able to save or fix him and--

“Louis,” Harry whimpered. “Please. Just. Check. I can’t tell. I can’t feel it. It just sort of...Hurts.”

Louis drew in a short breath, and felt his eyes begin to water out of stress.

“Lou,” Harry continued to reach for him, green eyes wide and pleading. “Louis. Please. I- I’m scared.”

Louis didn’t know a lot of things, but he knew he never wanted to hear those words again.

And so he unthinkingly dove forwards, hands trembling, and just parted the gap in the sweater. He couldn’t deal with the suspense anymore; couldn’t deal with not _knowing._ His time at the veterinary prepared him for the inevitable tragedy waiting there- the blood, the gore, the pain- but, much to his great surprise…

He found none.

In fact, Louis found nothing at all.

Harry’s chest was completely clear from injury, and there was no trace of a bullet ever making impact in the first place. Louis placed his hand flat upon the skin, just to be sure. And it was many things: cold, trembling, incredibly soft, but not injured. And in no way matching the expectations of fear Louis had conjured in his mind beforehand.

“You’re not hurt,” Louis said, voice strange to his own ears. “It...It didn’t go in.”

Harry let out a long exhale of relief and lay his head back on the carpet, face sweaty.

“It hit me,” he said, sounding more bewildered than upset. “Right in the chest. It _hit_ me.”

“Harry,” Louis said, because it was all he could say.

His hand was still on Harry’s chest, and he was still in his damn pyjamas, and he could feel Harry’s heartbeat hammering under his palm, the rhythm not too different from Louis’ own. For a moment they just sat there, awash in the fear and the drama and the utter ridiculousness of it all. What the everloving fuck had his life become?

It was safe to say that thinking pushed Louis far over breaking point, and all of the built up emotions of the past four minutes tumbled free at once.

“Why the fuck did you get hit by a bullet?” he asked, suddenly. “Where the fuck were you? Your mum called our house asking why you hadn’t come home yet, I had to make up some dumb excuse like you were helping me with homework or something-”

“-I’m sorry,” Harry began to calm down, his breathing slowing, and the frown upon his brow softening. “Was on a roof. Saw a drug deal. Tried to stop it.”

“A drug deal? In Smallville?” Louis pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I _chose_ to try and stop it,” Harry protested, grimacing. “But I just...I didn’t know what to do. They shot me, and by the time I got up they were gone, and then I freaked out because it hurt and I thought it was still in me, so I…”

“Came here,” Louis hissed. “To an inexperienced teenage boy’s house. Instead of just, you know, the nearest hospital.”

He was speaking out of anger because he was concerned, and he hated being concerned, because it made him do stupid shit, and when he did stupid shit, he always seemed like an arse. In the silence, Harry let out a few laboured breaths, gaze centred on the ceiling. He seemed to be slowly realising his own ridiculousness, and becoming all the more contemplative for it. The moonlight had caught his jaw and was clinging onto it; painting his pink lips silver.

“It sounds stupid when you say it like that. But I couldn’t let them know about me,” Harry wheezed, and glanced at Louis curiously. “Is there really no wound or anything?”

“Nope,” Louis bit his lip, still bitter. “Guess you’re just invulnerable, or something. Unless it didn’t really hit you...”

“Nah,” Harry frowned for a second, reaching up the inside of his sweater- “It did.”

He rummaged under there for a while before pulling out a round, small disk of metal, and Louis realised after a second that it was the bullet that had hit him. Or _had_ been. The force of coming into contact with Harry’s skin alone had completely flattened the metal...and Louis didn’t know what to do but gape.

“I know,” Harry mumbled, frowning at it. “I- I didn’t know I could do that either.”

Louis just emitted a short and frustrated breath. How could Harry seem so calm? Louis felt like he could barely structure a sentence...this was what happened when his friends worried him, dammit!

He forced himself to speak, if not only to maintain the illusion that he was totally down with all of this. _Bullet holes? Sick! Blokes crashing in through the window? Just another day in Smallville!_

_Friends nearly dying on the carpet? Spiffy!_

“The guys doing the drug deal…” He frowned. “Did you manage to see any of their faces?”

“No,” Harry grimaced, and began fumbling around on the carpet for his glasses, which had fallen off as he fell. “They were wearing masks, the whole lot of them. And I was too in the moment to really think about doing anything. I really don’t think I thought this through.”

Louis took the bullet from him, chest numb. “You don’t _fucking_ say.”

There came a silence, in which Harry remained quiet and comtemplationary on Louis’ carpet, and Louis just held the bullet, trying to come to terms with all of it. Mostly, he just felt...angry. Trust Harry to go off on his own and end up in a mess. Trust Harry to listen to quite possibly the most stupid, selfish advice Louis had ever given and go off in the night, acting like a proper old superhero and nearly getting himself killed...

Harry looked at him for a while, eyes soft in the dark. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No- really- I am,” Harry slowly began to sit up, grimacing in the effort. “Oh, fuck.”

He stumbled back down, and Louis rushed forward to help, catching him with an arm around his back and a hand to the chest. Harry felt warmer than he looked when you were close to him, _really_ close to him- and as his face crumpled, he slung a heavy arm around Louis’ shoulder.

Louis tried to ignore the fact that they were so close, tried to ignore the fact that Harry’s eyes were a lot greener than he first gave him credit for. They were soft, glassy- almost planet like.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Harry whined, leaning onto him. “It’s just- not many things really hurt me, you know?”

“Maybe you just need to get used to it,” Louis offered. The thought that pain itself felt strange to Harry was strange in itself. How did you comfort someone who’d never been hurt before? Was it even _possible?_

Slowly, he helped Harry stand up, legs wobbling and Louis almost bending double under the weight. But deep down, he just wanted to see up close if Harry was really fine.

Even after he’d helped him, the feeling stayed there. Louis really wasn’t sure why.

“Probably, yeah.”

Harry seemed nonchalant until their eyes met, when for the first time, Louis had the inexplicable urge to kiss him senseless.

He wasn’t sure where it came from. Misplaced sexual frustration? Maybe. The relentless, conflicting feelings of affection and worry Louis always felt towards Harry? Probably. All of that, times by ten, wrapped in relief, and served to Louis in the middle of the night? Definitely.

He’d never thought of Harry in a _sexual_ way before. Especially not so close up, with his hand on Harry’s bare skin, able to feel every mutter and thump of his heartbeat, watching the moonlight glide across his cheeks. But Louis couldn’t help it. He had always been so clumsy around men, and the thought of Harry being more than a friend gave him goosebumps. The world drew to a stop as Harry blinked, gazing at him gently, and Louis wanted to touch those lips _so badly._

Only the fear stopped him. He’d been down the path of rejection before, and it wasn’t exactly something his pride could weather again, thank you very much. It didn’t mean Louis wasn’t on the edge of his seat waiting and begging and pleading for Harry to bridge the gap between them, though- because he was.

The tension stood between them like a wire.

Louis didn’t know how long they stood there, but it couldn’t have been for long, because Harry soon sipped a deep breath and backed away. He looked embarrassed at himself, like he’d been waiting for something that simply hadn’t come.

Louis knew the feeling. He laughed, sheepishly itching at the back of his own nape, and glanced at the clock. “Jesus Christ, it’s late. You should probably-”

“-Go home, yeah,” Harry flushed pink. “My parents, they’ll be-”

“-Worried sick, yeah,” Louis nodded, hands on his hips. “Of course they will be.”

For a moment Harry seemed to hesitate and Louis watched him do so, wondering if the moment was over, or if Harry was giving him one last chance to jump majestically into his arms. But then, Harry just picked up his bag, smiled at him and left- zooming through the window just as he’d arrived.

Louis let out a shaky breath in the silence. Jesus. What the _fuck_ just happened?

-

The next day felt strange, even though it had no real reason to be. Harry was acting as though he’d never crashed into Louis’ bedroom the night before, and Louis was trying his best to go along with it, but...something kept bringing him back.

Maybe it was the fact that Harry’s chest was way more _noticeable_ than it used to be. He was wearing a giant plaid shirt, and Louis could still make out the spot where the bullet had been the night before. He found himself staring at it whilst Harry was talking, unable to rid his mind of the image of the soft skin underneath. Or of the way Harry had looked like an entirely different person altogether under the moonlight, like a figment of a dream…

Louis couldn’t make out the facts. He hated not understanding something, and right then, his mind seemed entirely set on deciphering what was wrong with him and Harry if it killed him (and his social life in the process).

“Louis,” a voice said, muttering in the background. “Earth to Louis…”

Louis sat up to attention. He was sat in the cafeteria, watching Harry laugh at something Niall was saying from the opposite side of the table. He, meanwhile, was sat next to Liam, who was glaring at Louis with an annoyingly knowing set of eyes.

“What?” Louis asked, trying his best to sound innocent. The way he flushed and the way Liam’s eyes glinted with satisfaction meant they both knew what was going on.

“You should take a picture, you know,” Liam spoke, topically, bitchily tilting his head. “Would last longer.”

“Waheyy,” Louis rolled his eyes, tearing his gaze away from Harry. “Never heard that one before.”

“I’m just saying,” Liam hissed, nudging him. “If you find him cute maybe you should- I don’t know- stop gaping and just tell him?”

“I never said I found him cute,” Louis argued, crossing his arms. “I just- it’s complicated.”

Liam rolled his eyes and gave him the _Agony Aunt_ look. God. He was so annoying- he had no idea what he was talking about, first of all, and secondly of all- how could he possibly understand? _Sorry Liam, I’m not staring at Harry because he’s cute, I’m staring at him because he’s superhuman and now I can’t get the image of his chest out of my head?_

Jesus.

“Sure it is,” Liam pressed. “Come on. What’s going on between you two?”

Louis pouted and looked away. “Nothing.”

“Oh, come on, Lou,” Liam sighed. “Either he’s got something on his shirt or you’ve got something to hide.”

“It’s nothing,” Louis insisted. “Seriously. We just- we got into a bit of a weird situation last night and I can’t make it out.”

“Last night?” Liam pressed, brown eyes wide. “What were you two doing _last night?”_

Louis closed his eyes. God, what a mess. He was making a big deal out of nothing, and should’ve just said nothing, because Harry was probably able to hear every single fucking thing they were saying, and Liam had been desperate to matchmake Louis with someone since two thousand and fucking five--

“It doesn’t matter,” Louis spoke, looking away. “Seriously. I’d tell you if there was anything, but-”

A pause, in which Harry’s eyes met his from across the table, and Louis was suddenly in the night before again, his hand on Harry’s chest, a shrinking distance between their lips-

“There just isn’t,” he concluded, looking back to Liam.

“Oookay,” Liam shrugged, and looked rather disappointed. “It _is_ your call. But whilst you were ogling curly top over there-”

Louis flushed red as Harry looked away once more, obviously still listening-

“-I was thinking about the party of the century,” Liam held up his phone. “Guess who got an invite to Zayn fucking Malik’s seasonal, baby!”

“Holy shit,” Louis tried his best to forget Harry’s lips, once more lingering in the corner of his mind. “How the Hell did _you_ get invited?”

Zayn Malik, as well as being the best fucking tennis player Louis had ever seen, was also one of the most popular kids at the school. His ‘seasonals’ were weekend long events that took place every season, and often ended in legendary stories and disruption throughout the entirety of Smallville. It was rumoured he only got away with the disruption because his family were stinking rich, but that was yet to be confirmed. All that Louis knew was that he’d never personally been to one, but the time Niall managed to smuggle himself into one last year and left with half of his hair dyed pink spoke for itself.

“Stacy from the school council got me in,” Liam grinned in excitement. “Apparently the entire football team is invited too. Which means…”

He wiggled his eyebrows at Louis and Harry in rapid succession, which caused Louis to sigh.

“No,” he said, quickly. “I’m not taking him to Zayn’s seasonal.”

“Why not?”

“Because-” Louis started- “Every year, they’re hectic, they’re chaotic-”

 _-They’re a place where things go wrong._ And God knew Louis didn’t want to see the scared expression on Harry’s face ever again.

“-You think he wouldn’t be able to handle that?” Liam pressed. “Come on, the guy stood up to _Stenlock Marsden._ It’s not like Zayn’s parties are any worse.”

 _Yeah,_ Louis thought, _but Harry’s met people like Stenlock before. Bullies, twats- he’s dealt with them all of his life. It’s why he’s never fucking been to a party before, and why taking him to the most ludicrous, intense one in the area, mind- was quite possibly the worst idea in the world, even if he didn’t have superpowers._

Again, Louis could hardly explain that to Liam, because it wasn’t his secret to tell- so he just wrinkled his mouth in silent annoyance.

“Anyway. It would be the perfect time to make a move if you wanted to,” Liam continued. “People do shit like that at parties all of the time, and you two would be so cute-”

“-No no no,” Louis flushed, trying desperately to stop him from embarrassing them both- but it was far too late. In the corner of his eye, Louis saw Harry’s shoulders tense.

“-And I honestly think that he’s a really sweet chap,” Liam continued, unstoppable as always. “It could be one of those really sweet hate to love stories that you see all of the time on the news. I really think if you just stopped worrying and took a chance-”

“I don’t _want_ to take a chance!” Louis hissed, blushing furiously. “This is why I never tell you shit!”

“Maybe if you told me shit I wouldn’t think the things I do,” Liam winked. “Anyway, I really think if you took him it could really help the both of you-”

“Really help the both of you what?” Niall butted in, eyes wide with intrigue.

There was a silence, in which Harry looked around in faux confusion, Liam and Louis met eyes, and Louis sent a glare to Liam so strong that it could’ve melted the fucking ice caps.

It said, in bold red letters: **DON’T YOU DARE** _._ But when had that ever stopped Liam?

“Louis is taking Harry to Zayn Malik’s party tonight,” he spoke, diplomatically. “Because it’s the right thing to do.”

Louis gaped wide- in what _universe_ was it the right thing to do?!? He was already having problems with Harry, let alone without the alcohol, skimpy clothing and close proximity Zayn’s parties always included. Was Liam trying to shoot Louis in the foot here? Or was it genuinely just an attempt to ruin his life?

“A...party?” Harry asked, eyes curious.              

Louis felt doom consume him whole. There was no way out of this situation- he knew that now. Liam had thrown him into a pit and taken away the ladder, and was damned to keep him buried there for the rest of fucking eternity.

“Yes!” Liam emphasised. “I mean, everyone needs to go to one in their lifetime, right? It’s an experience you _need,_ boyo.”

Harry looked unsure of this, but he smiled anyway- unknowingly urging them on.

“If you took Harry,” Niall wiggled his eyebrows. “I could always come too. As a plus-one plus-one.”

“I-- Don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Louis winced.

“Well, if you don’t take him, I will,” Niall bargained. “What’d’you say, Hazza? I’ll teach you how to keg stand.”

“I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted to keg stand in my life,” Harry laughed, weakly, but seemed to note Louis’ discomfort. “But I wouldn’t mind coming if...everyone else is willing.”

His eyes came to rest on Louis, and Louis felt himself quickly giving in. He was so reluctant to agree because A.) he hated being pushed into things, B.) he would’ve liked time to get over whatever hole he’d fallen into in terms of thinking about Harry and other stupid boy stuff...but at the same time, how the Hell could he say no? Harry hadn’t had any friends before, and this could very well be the first and only time in his life he’d go to a party. And with his powers and all...who else was going to make sure things didn’t get out of hand. _Niall?_

Louis emitted a snort at that, and shrugged. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you- parties are gross.”

-

Knocking on Louis’ door that night felt...weird.

Mostly because Harry didn’t really know what was going on with them anymore. Last night he’d lingered in Louis’ bedroom when he shouldn’t have, and considered thoughts that he also shouldn’t have. And naturally, that had freaked Louis out- _Louis_ , who had never thought of Harry as more than a friend, _Louis_ , who had never been anything but good and respectful to him.

And what had Harry done in return? Crashed into his bedroom at God knows what hour, demanded his time and attention, and then proceeded to stare at him with his sweater half ripped open, possibly ruining their friendship forever.

He’d tried to make it normal the next day in the hopes of patching it over, hoped that Louis hadn’t figured out what he’d been thinking the night before. Because honestly, staring at your friend’s lips with the words _if I could choose anyone to be my first kiss, it’d be you_ running through your head was just fucking embarrassing. He didn’t even know why he’d done it.

Nobody _rational_ thought things like that. Ever. Overhearing Louis at lunch had just confirmed it.

It was clear Louis felt so uncomfortable around him now that he didn’t want to take him to this stupid party- and the words _“I don’t want to take a chance!”_ had been floating around his head all day. Harry simply had to accept that he was _new_ to all of this, he was new to human interaction in general- and that staring at someone wasn’t the way to get them to even remotely want to kiss you.

Yet, he found himself at Louis’ door. _Drawn_ to it, almost. He was fuelled, as he always was, with an unshakeable urge to put things right.

Louis’ grandmother was the one who answered- a frail woman, with long grey hair and a fabulous turquoise skirt and glasses. She frowned when she saw Harry, and Harry couldn’t help but feel guilty. _I’m sorry for making your grandson so unhappy,_ he felt on the cusp of saying. _If you want, I’ll fly right into the atmosphere and never bother him ever again._

Instead, she just...squinted. “Horace, is it?”

“Harry,” Harry flooded with a mixture of relief and fear. “Or, Haz. If you want.”

“I _don’t_ want,” Louis’ grandma said, simply. “Louis!”

She arched her neck as she yelled, and a very dishevelled Louis stuck his head out from the doorway at the end of the hall. As he saw Harry, his eyes widened.

“Your friend’s here,” Louis’ grandma said, and with that, left the door wide open and walked into the dining room.

For a moment they just stood there, Louis’ bare shoulders peeping from his room, and Harry stood outside on the mat. And then, Louis just shook his head.

“Come in, then,” he called, and then, he was gone.

Harry followed the sound of rustling fabric all of the way to Louis’ bedroom, and then lingered awkwardly in the doorway. Louis was leaning into his wardrobe, half dressed, an exceedingly soft back and waist sticking out for all to see. Louis swore to himself as he continued to rifle through various shirts and vests, but all Harry could think about was the curve of his back, and how squishy his stomach looked close up.

God. What was wrong with him?

“Alright,” Louis turned, two shirts in his hands, “honest opinion. Go.”

Harry could not focus on the blue or the red t-shirts in Louis’ hands- for his belly button was visible, and so was the tiny strip of hair running down his stomach, and the boxer band popping out of his jeans-

“Blue,” he blurted, unthinking, and Louis just frowned.

“Really?” he asked. “I thought it was a little mediocre, to be honest.”

Harry turned away, feeling like it was almost indecent to see Louis like that. Especially after last night...Harry felt like he was doing absolutely everything wrong.

“It...It brings out your eyes,” Harry said, just to hear something over the sounds of Louis’ hands on the fabric, adjusting and tilting and weighing.

“In that case…” There came more noises. “It’s perfect.”

Harry couldn’t bring himself to turn around, just on the off chance that he did so and Louis was fully naked...or something. The thought of dating Louis had come out of nowhere and was seeming to taunt him at every corner. It cruelly made every single touch, every single word, seem significant. Harry didn’t know where he stood anymore. He just hated his lack of experience, and hated how he could never tell what people meant.

“Hey,” Louis said, coming to stand in front of him. “You can look at me, you know. It’s not illegal.”

Harry stood on his own foot and flushed. “I wasn’t...looking at you.”

“I know,” Louis shrugged. “It’s just...In case you were. You’re allowed, I mean. We’re all friends here, right?”

Harry sipped in a very painful breath. “Right.”

“Anyway…” Louis made a strange face. “I- er- didn’t think you’d be here of all places. Didn’t Li agree to pick you up?”

“He did, but…” Harry fumbled with his own hands. “I wanted to come with you.”

Louis just stared at him.

“Come with you...to the party, I mean.” Harry flushed bright red. _“Accompany_ you. To the party. That we were invited to. As friends.”

“Jesus,” was all Louis said. “I need a drink.”

He walked on over to his wardrobe and started searching for something, oddly quiet. Louis hadn’t been this blunt with him since the day they first met, and he wasn’t quite sure of what to make of it.

“So I take it you heard that mess at lunch,” Louis spoke, and he sounded strange in the dark.

“I mean...yeah.” Harry itched at the back of his neck.

“I didn’t want you to get the wrong impression about us,” Louis continued to speak, voice sounding forced and tight. “About this whole thing, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Harry lied, looking away. “It’s alright. I get it.”

“You do?” Louis turned to him, eyes alight with a sudden happiness- and God, did he really hate the idea of them being together that much?

Harry didn’t know much, but he had thought that him and Louis... _fit_ together pretty well. And that they were getting sort of close, and that last night, things had sort of...evolved between them? For the first time? And that Louis was maybe looking at him like he felt it too-

No.

Harry had to stop himself there. He’d gotten too full of himself, and too excited, and thought for one second that just because Louis saw past the powers thing, he’d be able to see past everything else. Like, who on Earth would want to date an alien? Who on Earth would want to be with someone who could crush them flat in seconds?

No more. If Louis didn’t want that, Harry wouldn’t reach for it. Hell. If Louis wanted to be friends, Harry would banish every thought of holding Louis’ hand clean from his head. He’d read the book on _platonic friendship_ and follow it to a T. He’d smile like everyone else, he’d talk like everyone else, and he’d never once impede on Louis’ goodwill and kindness and general ability to deal with everything in a competent and normal manner-

He’d do it all in a heartbeat. For him.

He’d do anything for him.

“Yeah, I do,” Harry smiled, fakely, and took a seat on Louis’ bed. “I’m sorry if I weirded you out or anything.”

“Harry, darling,” Louis scoffed, and turned dramatically to him. “The only thing weirding me out at the moment is that sweater. Were you really going to wear _that_ to the party?”

Harry fell silent with shock. The old Louis was back, for some reason- and he looked happier than ever. God, he must’ve really hated the thought of Harry thinking there was something between them. Swallowing that thought, he forced his gaze down to the sweater on his chest, and tried to look offended.

(It wasn’t hard. Harry was currently fighting twelve levels of tears at once.)

“It’s a nice sweater,” he argued, weakly. “It’s smart and trendy.”

“It has _Read Books, not T-Shirts!_ printed on it in big green letters,” Louis informed him, crossing his arms.

Harry happened to think that it was quite a _lovely_ sweater, in his defence. The combination of the red and the green was a little festive, sure, but he thought that it would make a good conversation starter, especially in a party situation. Parties were all about conversation, and dancing...right?

Right?

“Well, what would you rather have me wear?” He asked, defeated.

A giant, delicious smile dawned upon Louis’ face. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He turned to his wardrobe and dramatically brandished a velvet shirt in Harry’s face. It was deep green and ruffled, with a terrifyingly low neck that would’ve hid very little of Harry’s chest if he was to wear it. Overall, it was very much just not his style, and he felt himself paling in fear.

“No,” he said, simply.

“Why not?” Louis frowned. “Come on, if I’ve got to wear my eye colour then so do you.”

“I- I can’t wear that, Louis,” Harry attested. “It has ruffles. I...I’ll break them.”

“Fine,” Louis stuck out a bottom lip, and dove back into the wardrobe, only to resurface with a bright pink number coated in sequins.

“No,” Harry repeated, holding his chest in fear.

“But it would look so fucking _good_ on you,” Louis pleaded, stomping down a foot. “Okay, the next thing I choose, you have to wear.”

“What if I don’t like it?”

“Tough,” Louis cackled, and Harry couldn’t help but smile. He was playing with fire, here, he really was, but it was worth sacrificing his pride just to see Louis laugh again.

A moment later, Louis held out what could only be described as...a rag. It was red, plaid, and looked like a scarf at first glance. At second, it seemed to have arm holes...But literally nothing else. It looked as though Louis had completely mutilated a shirt of all its best and necessary parts. The sleeves, for example? Missing. The part where the torso usually lay? Missing.

It was grotesque, and so impractical that for a moment Harry thought Louis was joking. But then, he was handing it to him, that big, sunny grin still on his face.

“I...I…”

“Love it? Adore it? Am gunna take it to Las Vegas this instant and marry it?”

“What is this?” Harry held up the fabric. “Seriously, what the _fuck_ is it?”

“It’s your evolution, little wallflower,” Louis’ grin couldn’t have been described as anything else but elated. “Now, hurry up and get it on.”

-

It was almost eleven when they got to Zayn’s house, but not exactly dark, because of the streetlights. It was a big white Victorian house right on the outskirts of town to the west, with an enormous grassy garden and a treehouse dangerously overrun with fairy lights. By the time they got to the door, Louis was giddy with excitement, and still not able to believe his luck.

Firstly, he’d managed to get Harry to a party. An actual, real life party. In something _other_ than a sweater (thank God). In fact, Harry wearing the sluttiest shirt he owned was a miracle in itself. Part of Louis had suggested it as a joke, but...standing there on the porch, with the wind whipping at their faces and Harry’s torso very much in the open, Louis decided he’d never made a better choice in his life.

(He had been right about Harry having a nice body, by the way. It was long, and softly muscular, with a gradual line of hair running from his belly button to the top of his jeans. His stomach was squishy and his biceps even softer. Despite the fact he kept trying to cover them up.)

“I feel exposed,” Harry gruffed, tugging the shirt over his shoulders (despite the fact it had no sleeves).

“Hey, you _chose_ to wear it,” Louis hummed happily to himself.

“Yeah,” Harry argued. “Because I wanted to make it up to you. Now I just feel...naked. And vaguely scared.”

“You look fine,” Louis smiled. “You look...pretty hot, actually.”

Harry went bright red, and raised his hand to tuck a stray curl behind his ear, which only exposed more of his stomach. Louis coughed to himself and had to force his eyes away. With something like that on show, he definitely needed a drink.

The door opened, and a very drunk Zayn Malik popped his head from the door.

“Lou-Lou-Louis!” he swooned, trapping him in a hug.

“Za-Za-Zayn!” Louis greeted, not really sure what was going on.

Zayn released him, blinking, and patted Harry on the belly. “I like the quad nips, dude.”

“Uh...Thanks,” Harry went even redder. “I’m trying out a new thing.”

“Itsawwork...Itsa working,” Zayn held up a finger. “Excuse me.”

He disappeared from the doorway and didn’t return, so Louis just walked in. The house was packed already, with what seemed to be the entire population of the school crammed within the living room alone, and music thumping against the walls.

Louis turned to see that Harry had stopped, mouth wide open in the doorway, and had to take his hand to drag him inside. (At least, that’s what he told himself).

Another reason Louis felt good about this whole thing was that Harry understood what he was feeling. Or, at least, he’d _said_ he had. Louis really hadn’t meant to insult him at lunch earlier. He knew what it looked like: _him being repulsed at the thought of dating Harry, and all that-_ but it really wasn’t the case.

He just hated admitting that other people were right, and more importantly, needed a hot second to figure out what he was feeling and why.

The thing was, he usually didn’t do crushes this way. They were usually formed on strangers in an instant, identifiable, quick, and easy. This one on Harry...subconsciously snuck up on him. Louis didn’t know if it was entirely born out of sexual frustration or had been brewing for a long time under the surface, with last night serving as one big catalyst- but he hadn’t been able to get it out of his head.

It meant so much to Louis that Harry understood what he was feeling. It maybe meant that Harry had been thinking the same thing. And now that Harry understood it all...maybe Louis _could_ drop some hints about the other night. Pursue it, maybe? He really did hate following Liam’s advice, but parties were the place where _life-is-short_ scenarios tended to play out. Right now, Louis felt sort of desperate for one.

“You alright?” he asked, guiding Harry through the sea of grinding bodies. “Too loud?”

“I’m mostly just confused,” Harry expressed, frowning deeply. “There are people having sex over there...and people doing obscene dances over there...and so many, like, bodies, and sounds, and just…”

“...General teen weirdness?” Louis finished.

Harry nodded, still following Louis through the crowd.

“Listen, they’re always like this. It’s an acquired taste. But if you wanna leave…”

“No,” Harry said, quickly. “I don’t. I wanna stay. It’s just...new, is all. A _good_ new.”

“If you’re sure.” Louis said. By that point, they’d reached the drink table, and there was an entire alphabet of alcohol bottles sitting in front of them. “But if you need to tap out, just- just say.”

Harry nodded, and watched Louis pour a cup of beer with avid enthusiasm. “You didn’t tell me you knew Zayn.”

Was that _really_ a hint of jealousy in his voice? Louis tried to stop himself from smirking. “I don’t.”

“Oh.” Harry frowned, watching Louis drink. “It’s just...he hugged you.”

Louis laughed. “I’ve never talked to him in my life. Some people are just like that, I guess.”

Harry seemed unsure, but was quick to pour himself a drink, in the exact same fashion Louis had nonetheless. The only difference was that he poured himself a little too _much-_ and Louis watched the beer reach the rim of the cup with pained amusement.

“You know, I only had half a cup,” Louis mentioned, trying to make it sound topical.

“What?” Harry wiggled his eyebrows over his cup. “You saying I’m a lightweight?”

“No- I’m just saying…” Louis puffed out his cheeks. “It’s your first party. Maybe you should take it slow.”

“It’ll be fine, Louis,” Harry said, and took a sip. “I’m a lot stronger than one bloody _beer.”_

-

“Do you believe in fate?”

It was 1am. Louis had lost count of what cup Harry was on by now. Fifteenth? Sixteenth? He was more than a little tipsy himself, and time had seemed to stretch on without his knowing. All he knew was at some point Harry had decided to down the entire punch bowl, and that there was a lot of vodka involved...and now, they were sat on Zayn’s lawn, watching the grass flutter in the wind, and the stars blink in the sky.

“What?” Louis turned his head.

Harry had his arms spread out, his torso fully exposed, and seemed to have his thoughts entirely elsewhere. His glasses were strewn into his curls, and as he turned to face Louis, his cheek squished atop the grass.

“Fate,” Harry spoke, dreamily. “Like, someone being up thereeeee-”

He gestured towards the sky, and then flopped his arm back onto the grass.

“-nd coming back heeereee,” he finished.

“Like, some kind of space mission?” Louis asked. His head felt drowsy, but he felt light. Like he was floating.

“Yesh,” Harry nodded, seeming very proud of himself. “Wait- no.”

“Then what do you meaaaan?” Louis put his hand on Harry’s chest, and saw an entire constellation in his curls.

Or maybe that was just the beer.

“I mean,” Harry huffed to himself. “What if it’s fate you were behind that...that stinky truck? And fate I came to move here to meeet you? And fate that my rocket thingy came here and not like, on the moon? Or somethings?”

“I’m gunna be honest,” Louis started to giggle. “I have no fucking clue of what you’re saying right now.”

Harry caught his amusement like the plague, and for a few minutes they just lay there, laughing uncontrollably. Then, when they calmed, Louis reached over and stole Harry’s glasses from his hair, placing them upon his own nose and squinting at him.

“Do you even need these?” he asked. “Everything looks the same.”

“That’s cos we’re really pissed,” Harry wheezed in a laugh, and reached out to touch Louis’ face. “And to answer the...answer. I don’t need them reaaaaaaally. But my laser vision doesn’t go through glass. It’s so, like, when I go to poops and stuffs, I don’t carve a hole in the ceiling.”

Louis began to cackle into Harry’s hand. “Why? Has that happened before?”

“No,” Harry closed his eyes. “But, like. As a toddler I did some questionable shit.”

“Like what?” Louis shuffled a little closer. The air was cold, and Harry was so warm, and he was having such a good time. He wanted to wrap the moment around them, like some kind of blanket. “Come on. I bet...I bet you’ve got some good stories.”

Harry flushed and looked back at the sky. “There was this oneeeeee time I was having a tantrum when I was like, six. And I stomped, like stompy six year olds do. And I put a hole in the floor.”

“Oh my God,” Louis giggled.

“I was fucking... hung out to dry,” Harry looked at him, pure happiness shining in his eyes. “I’m not kidding. I put foot holes in the carpet.”

“Reminds me of this one time,” Louis fumbled with Harry’s fingertips. “I was about eleven. Granny Viv was doing me head in. So I got this special invisible ink from the corner shop, and, like- drew all over the dining room walls with it. You know- stupid eleven year old shit, and stuff. Penises... and stuff. She never found out. But I also never told her. And now, like, every time it gets to around four, the sun hits the wall at a certain angle and the ink becomes visible. So I have to always _mysteriously_ be stood in front of the dining room wall at around four. Otherwise she’ll look, and there’ll just be- like- penises.”

“Everywhere,” Harry began to cackle. “Penises everywhere.”

“Exactly.” Louis put his hand on top of Harry’s. “Y’know, I don’t know if it’s cos I’m drunk, or if I’m just fucked, but like...I feel like I could tell you anything, H.”

“For real?” Harry sluggishly moved forwards.

“Yeah,” Louis brushed his index down Harry’s wrist. “For real. Is there...is there anything you’ve never told anyone before? Like, the most secrety of secrets?”

A pause. Harry bit his lip; his eyes became as dark as the night sky.

“Yeah,” he spoke, eventually. “I’ve got a lot of secrety secrets.”

“Cos, like,” Louis slurred, closing his eyes. “I know I’m gunna fucking regret this, but something I’ve never told anyone is that...I can’t stop thinking about the other night. You know, at my place? When you were all quiet and chesty and bullety and close? Feel like it’s haunting me.”

“Me too,” Harry said. “S’all I can think about.”

When he said nothing more, Louis wondered how to put the thoughts in his head into actual verbal communication. He had so much to say lined up- _I think I’ve got a crush on you. I really want to kiss you. I need to know if you feel the same. Do you? Because when I think of you all I feel in my stomach is lightning and Hell, I wish I could articulate how weird and stupid and adorable and special you are-_ but all that came out of his mouth was:

“I’ve gotta admit. I did think you were annoyinggggg when we first met.” He closed his eyes.

A smile slowly dawned upon Harry’s face. “I just thought you were a bit of a cock.”

“I mean, I did give you a zero on the potential friend scale thingy, or- or something.” Louis poked at Harry’s cheek. “Wouldn’t blame ya. But I...I was just _mean,_ man.”

“At least you were mean and not a mess,” Harry took his glasses back. “I was a messssss.”

There came a pause, in which they just gazed at one another, and the sounds of the party went on, distantly, in the background. Louis became faintly aware of people walking past them on the grass, but he was too out of it to care. All he could think about was the dip of skin where Harry’s jaw met his neck, and the parts of his eyelashes the hazy party lights touched, and everything Louis wanted to have and be and hold.

“Still _am_ a mess,” Harry mumbled, and closed his eyes. “Did...Did I ever tell you why I left my old house?”

“In...In...Bolmes Fhapel,” Louis recalled, faintly.

“Holmes Chapel.” Harry began to giggle.

“Yes,” Louis nodded. “No. No, you didn’t.”

Harry reached out for his hand after he stopped laughing, and Louis let him have it. It was such a strange thing, hand-holding. Louis had never been much of a sucker for it before he met Harry, but now that he had, he’d thought the idea simply wonderful. Maybe it was because Harry had such wonderful hands. Like he was born to hold people, born to _help_ people...Born to look at Louis like he had everything and nothing to lose.

“I had no-one,” Harry expressed, and his tone was sad. “I had no-one there. The people at my old school...they weren’t like you. They’d known me my whole life, and knew that things tended to fall apart around me, so they stayed away. And it wasn’t easy to be me. I was a refugee of a planet I couldn’t even remember. Then, I had these weird arse powers that nobody understood. And eventually, when you’re the only person who knows what it’s like to be you, things get lonely. And then, things get bad. Did you know...did you know I started burning holes in the walls? That’sssshow sad I got?”

Louis nodded drunkenly into the grass. “People are dicks.”

“Yeah,” Harry moved closer. “They _are_ dicks. But...it really made me realise how lucky people like me are to have people like you. And Liam. And Niall. And even my parents. ‘Nd that’s why I was talking about fate. Because I was lucky enough to get all of this, this time around, and I don’t wanna ruin my chance. I know what it’s like not to have anything.”

Louis squeezed his hand. “Me too.”

“So if I can help it I won’t lose you,” Harry decided, eyes shut, voice barely above a murmur. “Or Liam. Or Niall. Or anyone. I...I won’t think stupid thoughts about...about kissing you and shit. If you don’t want that. And I won’t burden you with the weird shit anymore. Like the bullets. Because I _know_ it freaked you out. And anything that made our friendship feel that weird isn’t...isn’t something I want.”

He leaned down and kissed Louis’ wrist, curtly so, and Louis was aghast at how soft it felt.  But before he could say anything, Harry had turned to looked back at the sky, decision made.

Louis’ mouth hung open for a long while. He was too drunk, _too drunk_ to deal with this shit. He wanted to know what Harry meant. _Really_ meant. And if he meant what Louis meant. And if that meant that if Louis leaned forward to kiss him, Harry wouldn’t pull away. So, he just continued to frown to himself, and decided to push the matter for another day.

All that he knew was that Harry really was silly sometimes.

And that Louis was _maybe_ starting to fall in love with him.

-

Harry woke up with his head thumping and his mouth incredibly dry. His senses felt as though they were on overload- his ears thumping, his eyes stinging, and his limbs all over the place. He recognised, faintly, the drawings on the wall that told him he was in his own bedroom. Then, he recognised Louis, sprawled across the other side of the bed, head facing the floor.

“L-Lou,” he tried, whispering, and hated how much his brain hurt at the noise. “Louis?”

He weakly reached over and prodded him, and Louis let out a loud whine. He was still wearing his blue t-shirt from the night before, but the back of it was grass stained, and his hair was a vision in itself.

“What time s’it?” Louis croaked in response, and if it wouldn’t have hurt, Harry would’ve laughed at how he sounded.

Instead, he rolled over on the bed, and tried in vain to read what was on his bedside clock. Unfortunately for him, his eyesight wasn’t exactly cooperating with him- all he could see was a blur, and some fluttering symbols where the numbers should’ve been.

“I’m gunna be honest...I have no idea,” Harry wheezed into his pillow, and tried to stretch. “Can’t read.”

He was now completely topless, his plaid get-up laying discarded across the room. He still had his jeans on, thank God, but the partial nudity was still enough to make him blush. Harry picked the pillow up and held it to his chest.

“I’ve seen it all before, you know,” Louis started to crawl back onto the bed.

“It’s not that. I’m just...the room is spinning.” Harry closed his eyes. “Need something to hold onto.”

Louis wheezed and plopped himself beside Harry on the bed- the noise was deafening. However, it was calmed by the sensation of Louis’ cool fingertips brushing up and down his neck; endlessly soothing.

“You can hold onto me,” he offered.

Harry smiled, weakly, and took ahold of the hand Louis placed on his neck. He was warm, and every part of him Harry touched felt like home. His grip was loose, but it was there, and with every moment that passed Harry felt himself falling more and more in love. He was so close, and yet he couldn’t have him.

No matter how much he wanted to.

“Glad to know superheroes still have hangovers,” Louis muttered, breaking the hazy silence, and Harry snorted.

“You’re an arse,” Harry batted at him, but it was useless. Louis was too close, and had too much of an effect on him, for it to possibly work. His hand flopped uselessly within Louis’ grip.

“Seriously, with the amount you drank,” Louis pressed his nose into Harry’s shoulder. “I’m not surprised you’re feeling the way you are now.”

“I can’t even remember half of it,” Harry squinted at the ceiling, which was spinning before his eyes. “I’m sure I said some embarrassing stupid shit.”

“Oh yes,” Louis wheezed, looking at him kindly. “There was a lot of that.”

“And probably _did_ some questionable shit too.”

“You did run around the house at one point,” Louis’ eyes drooped shut. “Pretending to wear a cape.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Harry put his hands over his eyes. “I can’t believe it.”

He was such an embarrassment sometimes, he really was- all that he could hope was that he didn’t break anything. It would’ve been just his luck to discover he’d carved a big bloody hole in one of Zayn’s walls, or frozen his lawn solid.

“I can. It was hilarious,” Louis took one of Harry’s hands back, and squeezed it. “But it was nice. Seriously. Just being around you like that. It was nice.”

Harry looked over at Louis, all rosy and exhausted and Einstein-haired, and thought that he could’ve maybe gotten used to this. Used to Louis being so close and soft and endearing, the sunlight glistening in his eyes, his face curved in a gentle smile.

“How did we get back here?” Harry asked. “I...I don’t remember flying.”

“I think Niall found us on the lawn,” Louis yawned. “Drove us back. Not that I would’ve minded flying, but…”

He froze, suddenly, eyes reading the time on the clock behind Harry. And then, he sprung up into action, almost falling over Harry in the process, and started searching hastily for something.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck,” he said, quickly. _“Fuck.”_

“Louis-?” Harry tried to sit up, but his head was on fire, and he wasn’t entirely sure he could walk. “What’s-”

“I have work this morning!” Louis squealed. “I was meant to be in two hours ago, H- Oh fuck, oh fucking shitty fuck-”

“Hey, it’s fine,” Harry staggered to his feet, and tried to see things properly- when he was tired, his x-ray vision seemed to activate himself. “It’s fine, Lou. It’s gunna be fine.”

“I can’t find my phone,” Louis hissed, rummaging around. “I can’t find my phone. Maybe it’s- maybe I put it-”

A pause. He stopped ranting for a moment, silent as he faced the wall of Harry’s various space drawings. For a second, his eyes seemed to narrow as he stared at Harry’s little drawing of Krypton- hidden between a calendar and one of Harry’s literature posters. Harry suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of nausea take over him, and so he rose, finding Louis’ phone before a single word had left his lips.

“Here,” he spoke, handing it over; it seemed to be enough to jump Louis back into action.

“Thanks,” he smiled. “Listen. I better get- I better get going, okay? I’ll- I’ll see you later.”

“Just be careful,” Harry warned. “My parents think I’m at a sleepover.”

“Don’t worry,” Louis winked, opening the door- “It’s not the first time I’ve had to sneak out of a boy’s house undetected.”

The next thing Harry knew, Louis was gone, footsteps fast and hair erratic. Harry watched him leave with a strong sense of confusion. Louis hadn’t stopped to stare at the drawing Krypton solely out of the blue, right?

Had Harry said something to him last night?

-

Work was slow, which annoyed Louis, because he could’ve easily taken the day off and spent the time with Harry. Instead, in between patients, he found himself scrolling over the events of the night before, trying to pinpoint the strange feeling in his stomach. A few words kept rattling around his head, words that Harry had said to him...but why?

And what the fuck did they have to do with the drawings on his wall?

Louis couldn’t put it together. He’d ask Liam for help, but from what he’d seen online, Liam had been too busy getting absolutely shit-faced on shots in the bathroom.

 **To:** Irish Bastard, 10:49am

**_Please tell me you’ve seen that photo of Liam doing shots out of Zayn’s belly button._ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 10:54am

**_mate. I’m the one who took it.  it was a once-in-a-lifetime sorta experience, where the fuck were you????_ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 10:54am

**_no wait. lemme guess. with harrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy_ **

**To:** Irish Bastard, 10:55am

**_what’s that for? we’re just friends_ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 10:55am

**_HAH!_ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 10:55am

**_PLEASE_ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 10:56am

**_FRIENDS MY ARSE_ **

**From:** Irish Bastard, 10:55am

**_WHY DONT YOU JUST SNOG HIM AND GET IT OUT OF YOUR FUCKING SYSTEM ALREADY_ **

Niall was right. Why _didn’t_ he?

It was a problem Louis mulled over for the entirety of his shift, watching clients come and go. Frank the giant English Mastiff came in for a checkup, which Amy hated, but Louis loved, because it meant he could have a good old rant. Frank was always good to rant to, as he was a superb listener, and seemed very happy just to laze about on the clinic table for a while.

“I mean, I could just sort of- kiss him,” Louis expressed. “I mean, trust me, I want to. But I don’t really know if I _should_. I mean, I need to be sure of something first. And I don’t know why I need to be sure, but I guess I’m just one of those people who just, like, needs to know absolutely everything? And if I don’t know absolutely everything, it’ll annoy me. And I wouldn’t be able to kiss Harry and all of that shit without- without fully clearing my head.”

He let out an agitated sigh, and Frank just grunted.

“I’ve been with boys before,” Louis stroked the underside of Frank’s paw. “A lot of boys, I mean. And it’s been great. But they’re not Harry. None of them have been Harry. He’s just- he’s just so different. He has these curls, right? Big, flopping wonderful curls. And they go _everywhere_. Like caramel, or some kind of golden syrup. And his face- Frank, you’d know what I meant if you saw his face. It’s like a god built it- he has these really squishy cheeks, and his lips are so soft, and his nose is all cute and pointy-”

Louis felt himself trail off into his own thoughts, his cheeks pink and a stupid, goofy smile on his face. Frank just looked puzzled.

“Like, you know how you think about another dog’s ears or something? How they flop in the breeze, or how the sun shines off their coat? It’s- it’s sort of like that with Harry. Obviously not like that, but...He just sort of makes everything so beautiful, and God- it sounds so stupid when I say it out loud. But you can probably tell I’m sort of desperate to kiss him at this point. But, on the other hand…”

He moved onto the next paw- Frank lazily licked his wrist.

“On the other hand, I think he might be some kind of alien,” Louis murmured. “Okay, so I know how stupid that sounds. And Hell, if you saw the sweaters he wears, it might make some sort of sense, but- he said something last night. I’m _sure_ he said something last night. He was talking about why he couldn’t date me or whatever, and then he said- _I’m a refugee of a planet I can’t even remember._ Or something along those lines. But he definitely said _planet_. Not a town, or a city- but a _planet._ And now I’m thinking- he draws a lot of shit on his walls. It’s beautiful, and so so detailed, I just thought maybe he was doing it from imagination or for something he’s writing but- what if they’re real?”

Louis paused, staring down at the table. It felt like his mind was on fucking fire, and Frank wasn’t really giving any support on the matter.

“I know that’s silly. I know,” Louis looked down. “I just- I just need to know. And I know if I’ll ask him he’ll either say I’m right or be so offended he’ll never talk to me again. I shouldn’t ask. Because either way, it’ll look weird. Like, what if he didn’t trust me enough to tell me? What if he genuinely just got his powers from other means? What if he thinks I’m just an intrusive weirdo who can’t leave things alone?”

A silence. Frank began to sniff at Louis’ arm.

“I mean, I am.” Louis admitted. “But he doesn’t make me _feel_ like I am. The way he looks at me- it’s as if I’m really something special, Frank.”

Frank looked up at the mention of his name, and Louis scratched him behind the ears.

“I just want him to feel like he could tell me stuff,” Louis muttered. “Like I tell _him_ stuff. And God- if I don’t kiss him I don’t know what I’m gunna do. He thinks- he thinks I don’t like him? And that I don’t wanna be with him? But it’s just not true. And he’s so stupidly self sacrificial all of the bloody time. And I know he’s new to this and it isn’t his fault. I know that. But fuck- can he not see that I’m right here? Can he just not _see_ that? I mean, for fuck’s sake, I just- I need to sort this out.”

Frank licked his hand, and Louis laughed.

“I’m glad you understand me, Frank. You always do.”

-

By the time Louis led Frank back to his owner, it was early afternoon, and the hazy Smallville sun was dancing on the pavement outside. Pleasantries passed, Louis signed Frank out, and then, he was alone. For a moment everything was perfect- just Louis watching life pass by from the counter, thoughts of Harry still swimming around his head.

And then, Stenlock appeared from across the street. He looked a little worse for wear, hands in his pockets, expression passive- but he was staring right into the clinic, right at Louis. It suddenly occurred to Louis that it’d been so long since he’d actually _seen_ Stenlock out and about. Harry hadn’t taken the coach up on his offer, but Stenlock had stopped showing up for practise nonetheless, and the hallways had been oddly free from his presence for the past few days. Louis had put it down to Harry scaring the absolute shit out of him, or something- but Stenlock didn’t look scared as he watched Louis.

He looked angry. And as he turned on the spot and walked out of view, Louis couldn’t help but feel that something was about to go very, very wrong.

 


	8. Chapter 8

8: smells like superhuman spirit

For Harry, the next few days slipped by as though he was in a dream. He remembered some things, of course. The time he spent with Louis, the time he spent with Niall and Liam, the time he spent with the cows and his mothers upon the rolling fields, doing farm work as the sun grew low. But the rest of it was the night- the glorious, glorious night- and all of the freedom and exploration it brought.

He’d been sneaking out every evening since the party, doing what he could to help the town under the cover of nightfall. Initially, it had been to search for the drug dealers he’d encountered days before; but as each night passed, Harry found himself liking the experience more and more. Despite the fact he’d found no sign of who he’d been looking for, it soon got to the point where Harry couldn’t wait to dash out of his bedroom window each night; feel the wind against his skin; stopping trouble if and when it occured.

There wasn’t much of the crime he’d envisioned most nights: armed thugs or underground organisations, explosions or hostages. The reality was mostly just lost pedestrians, petty looters and the occasional party-goer causing trouble- but thanks to Louis, Harry set out pretty much prepared for anything.

Each night, he donned the darkest clothing he owned: a deep red hoodie, a mask, and dark blue Converse to match (like a proper superhero, or whatever it was Louis said), and was always back in his bed before his parents woke up the next morning.  And God- it was sublime. Harry couldn’t put it in words how refreshing it felt to finally have control of his own life, even if this control had been acquired through the practise of admittedly, hastily planned acts.

But Harry didn’t care. He loved it- all of it. He’d been working on his superheroic catchphrases, too, because every masked vigilante had to have a few. Coincidentally, it was also nice to hear something other than the sounds of the night every once in a while...something to break up the static in his head.

The ones he’d come up with so far were as follows:

  * _“What do you think you’re doing?”_  (To a bike thief, hands on his hips for good measure).
  * _“Hello!”_ (Said cheerily after bumping into a man smashing wine glasses on the pavement.)
  * _“Are you meant to be doing that?”_ (Upon discovering a woman spray-painting the door of the city hall.)



On the nights where there wasn’t any trouble, Harry would sit on the highest roof he could find, and either do homework, think about Louis, or see how far he could push his powers. Sometimes, he’d manage miracles (like the time he managed to turn the entire roof of the warehouse into an ice rink, for example) and sometimes, he’d be...less lucky. (Like the time he accidentally set an entire row of recycling bins on fire.)

But either way, Harry was feeling more at peace with himself. Doing something _right._ He didn’t feel like a loose part anymore, or someone just aimlessly floating through life, ruining everything he touched...instead, he felt like he was starting something new.

The only thing keeping him from the perfect life was the fact that he didn’t have Louis- but he’d decided long ago that that was just a cross he’d have to bear. How could he possibly be unhappy at a time like this?  

-

As Harry’s world started to grow, Louis’ world began to shrink.

He didn’t blame Harry for not noticing how stressed he’d been as of late. Harry had never been happier than when he was helping people, after all, and despite his initial reluctance, Louis thought he was now more into the whole “superhero” thing than Louis had been in the first place. When he wasn’t in Louis’ room, hanging around his bookcase and questioning him on the various forms of superhuman etiquette, Harry was out and about, either gushing about how much he was finally starting to love his powers, or helping people, or living, finally, outside of his parent’s jurisdiction.

And Louis didn’t mind that. He really didn’t. He loved seeing Harry so elated, and excited, and proud of himself, for what seemed to be the first time in eons. And, at any other time, it would’ve been a godsend.

It just so happened that Louis was getting confused by a great many things recently, and it was bad enough without the various distractions of Harry’s smile.

Firstly, there was the Stenlock thing. It had been weighing heavily on Louis’ mind ever since he saw him outside of the pet shop two weeks ago, but he’d felt weird about asking Harry for help about it, _especially_ now that he seemed so happy, and _mostly_ because a part of Louis was still desperately trying to hold his tongue out of pride. Harry had been dragged into Louis’ messes enough already, as far as Louis was concerned, Stenlock was nothing he couldn’t handle.

...right?

To be completely honest, Louis didn’t know where he stood on _anything_ anymore. Things had changed so much in the past month that it had left him desperate for some continuity in his life, and with Harry dashing off at every moment he got to help people, Niall working on his next big school article, and Liam focusing on his studies, there seemed to be no-one left to vent to about Louis’ problems, which seemed more and more inconsequential each time he brought them up.

He’d tried, at least, with Niall- who was usually Louis’ first call on the latest gossip (should he ever need it). Unfortunately, at the one time Louis needed him to be a gushing waterfall of rumours, Niall was everything _but._

“I haven’t heard much about Stenlock, if I’m to be honest,” Niall had said when Louis asked, earlier on in the week. “Just that he hasn’t been around much. Why? You know something I don’t?”

“I don’t know,” Louis admitted, looking away. “It’s just that- I saw him the other day.”

“And?” Niall pressed. “Was he shaking his fist? Holding a sword? Yelling obscenities?”

“No…” Louis squirmed. “He was just...staring.”

“Well, unless he has laser vision, I don’t think you have anything to worry about, mate,” Niall patted him on the back. The words were trivial, but they calmed Louis on the matter nonetheless.

What he _couldn’t_ calm himself on was his second problem. _Harry._

Louis had tried his best to forget about the party, and all of the things Harry had said. Hell, Harry had- or, at least, he’d _pretended_ to forget. But it wasn’t as easy for Louis, who had no heroic alter ego or blinding talent or an ever-bustling farm life to distract him from the things he didn’t want to confront. Most nights, it was just him, his school work and his thoughts, and the journalist inside of him, gnawing slowly at his resolve.

 _You need to forget about it,_ he’d told himself. _I don’t care how you do it. Just- forget._

But it was hard when Harry did things like giggle into his shoulder. Or make dimples with his face. Or do anything so genuinely stupid and Harry _esque_ that Louis wanted to scream, like rhyme ‘bee’ with ‘pee’ in an essay because it sounded funny, or stop to coo at a teddy in a window that had the words _‘I can’t bear to be without you’_ embroidered on its centre. Every single fucking thing Harry had done since the party had only made Louis more and more desperate to be with him.

And yet...he couldn’t enjoy it. He couldn’t stop to enjoy any of it, because there was a stupid fucking block in his head telling him that he had to know everything, and so, one afternoon, he just had enough, and turned up at Harry’s barn with a thousand questions in his head.

Louis had initially been determined to interrogate Harry ruthlessly upon arrival, to get it all over and done with, but then he saw Harry in a bright pink wooly turtleneck, and couldn’t bring himself to do more than smile.

“Hey,” Harry exclaimed, all surprise and delight and dimple-trodden exhilaration.

“Hi,” was all Louis could say, because he was a hopeless fucking idiot, and Harry had him wrapped around his little finger without even knowing it.

And so, disappointingly for Louis, the narrative continued as it usually did. It was a sunny, blissful day, with clouds trickling across the edges of an otherwise perfect blue sky, and beneath it the farm was prospering. It was clear that a lot of work had been done to make it feel like home over the past few months- the outside of the barn now a bright blue, a new fence installed around the cow’s field, and the seeds already sown for the next harvest.

Harry showed Louis all of this with bursting excitement, the tops of his jeans disappearing into knee high Wellington boots, and the sun reflecting from the inch-thick lenses of his glasses. Louis silently admitted he’d dressed rather stupidly for the occasion- his trainers sinking low into the mud, and the breeze sneaking into all of the gaps of his denim jacket- but then again, he didn’t really know what the occasion was meant to be. By this stage, he would’ve hoped to be interrogating Harry about his past by now.

But he wasn’t. And he wasn’t sure how he’d ever get there, with the sun shining upon Harry’s face like that- causing his curls to burn in all of the gilded shades of red and honey and amber, and taking all of the breath from Louis’ chest. _It wasn’t fair,_ he thought. He needed air to talk, and if he didn’t talk he wouldn’t be able to ask, and damnit damnit damnit- what was Harry _doing_ to him?

They ended up on the field farest from the house, leaning against the gate and watching the cows glisten under the sunshine. Edmund was way larger than she used to be, and a lot more territorial. When Harry had first told him that she was pregnant, Louis had instinctively known to be wary, as pregnant animals of any species tended to act irrationally aggressive. But, around Harry, this rule simply didn’t seem to apply.

For however moody Edmund acted around the other cows, she turned to mush whenever Harry approached, often lifting her chin so that he could scratch her there, or letting out a relieved ‘moo’ in response to his ramblings. It was as though she shared some kind of inner rapport with him; a sophisticated narrative that they both understood completely. Something that said: _you’re okay. You are home. I won’t hurt you._

Louis had never been more envious of a cow in his life.

He watched Harry stroke her ears with a underlying sense of fondness. “Have you thought about what you’re gunna call the baby?”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “No idea.”

“No literary names, or anything?”

“None whatsoever,” Harry pursed his lips. “I’ve gotta say, I haven’t really had the time to think about it. I always thought my _parents_ were gunna name it.”

“Hah. That’s the voice of defeat talking.”

“Probably,” Harry puffed out his cheeks, and stroked Edmund’s nose. “Although, I’m not entirely sure what I’d pick if I _could_ name it.”

“You could always suggest the name of a handsome, denim-jacketed fellow you know,” Louis wiggled his eyebrows in an attempt to cover up his nerves.

Because everyone knew that the best tactic for dealing with frustration was to just sweep it under the mat and talk about something else...right?

“Who’s that, then?” Harry played along, giggling as Edmund licked his hand.

“Hm. Let’s see.” Louis pondered. “He’s a great journalist, destined to adorn the pages of the Daily Planet one day.”

Harry smiled, giddily. “S’not ringing any bells.”

“-He’s tall. Muscular,” Louis splayed his hands. “Not afraid to get his hands dirty.”

“-Again, not anyone I can think of.”

“Has gorgeously blue eyes. Like, people often stop him in the streets and say- _hey dude! Your eyes are so amazingly blue right now-!”_

“Nope,” Harry grinned to himself, watching as Edmund slowly walked away. “Nobody’s coming to mind.”

“Really?” Louis put his hands on his hips. “Not even the guy you’re staring at _right now?”_

A pause. Their eyes met: Harry was very clearly trying desperately not to laugh.

“You said _tall and muscular,_ Louis,” Harry spoke, deadpan. “You’re- literally neither of those things.”

“Speak for yourself, curly.” Louis argued, tipping his chin up in faux affrontation. Harry began to cackle at him.

“You barely scrape 5′7.”

“I’m at least 5’9. At _least,”_ Louis argued, voice rising in pitch.

“Nah. I’m not seeing it.” Harry turned and began to walk, his hands in his pockets, and a glint in his eye. “Must be talking about someone else.”

God. Harry could be so _cocky_ when he felt like it. Louis sighed in mock frustration and began stomping after him, voice loud even though it didn’t need to be. He was feeling confrontational, which was, in turn, making him seem passionate about the complete wrong thing.

“I’ll have you know I’d be a great name for a cow,” he argued, shoes squelching in the mud.

“I’m not sure you fit the criteria,” Harry called back.

“Why not?”

“Well, you’re not a literary villain, for one-”

Louis wrinkled his nose. “Debatable.”

“-And for seconds- I don’t know,” Harry continued to walk. “I’d feel weird naming a cow after my friend.”

“Well-” Louis begun, building a whole new helpless debate in his head.

Louis knew it was stupid, but he would’ve taken arguing mindlessly over confronting the fears in the back of his head any day. Unfortunately for him, he never quite got the chance. He stomped too far into the mud, and ended up with one foot fully submerged, and the other dangling in mid-air. Balance was unreachable in that second of sheer, sheer panic, and Louis knew exactly what was going to happen next.

“Harry!” he yelped, in the spur of the moment.

He managed to let out a surprised ‘oof’ before falling into the mud, bum sinking, and hands disappearing in the mess. There was mud in his eyes, so by the time he managed to blink himself clear all he could see was Harry giggling at him from a metre away, eyes crinkled and soft.

“Thanks for the help, H,” Louis grunted, wiggling furiously.

“Sorry,” Harry beamed, walking forwards, “I- I was going to do something, I swear, but-”

“But what?” Louis found himself crying under all of the mud. God, he was an idiot. God, this was stupid. “It was just _too funny?”_

Embarrassment eclipsed him at a time when he was already feeling incredibly fragile: his inability to muster the courage to ask Harry about his words at the party making him upset. Harry must’ve realised this, because his tone instantly changed, and he stooped beside Louis with a careful expression on his face.

“I’ll get you out.”

“No, it’s fine,” Louis’ mouth went sour. “I’ll do it.”

Harry sighed. “Lou-”

“I said, I’ll do it!” Louis insisted.

He wriggled fruitlessly in the mud as Harry drew closer and closer, stubborn to his last breath.

“Out of curiosity, have you ever been in farm mud before?”

“What does it look like?” Louis ground his jaw, limbs beginning to tire, arms sloshing as the mud grew thicker and thicker. There didn’t seem to be an end to it.

“It _looks_ like you need my help,” Harry put his hands on his hips.

“I’m fine.”

“Let me help you,” Harry frowned. Concern had eclipsed his previous amusement, and he was leaning down again, arms wide. “C’mon. Take my arms.”

Louis stopped wiggling and stared blankly into the fabric of Harry’s jumper, hating himself. He was such an asshole. Harry had been nothing but good-willed to him, and then there was Louis- desperate to turn every moment with him into an interrogation, like Harry was a news story waiting to be dissected, or a commodity that Louis was about to push into the spotlight.

He wasn’t, of course. But fuck, Louis was just so tired.

Tired of this. Tired of fighting. And being so desperate for something- _anything-_ concrete to hold. Why did things always have to get so fucking complicated?

“Louis,” Harry repeated, even softer. “Let me _help you.”_

It was said so honestly, and so quietly, that Louis lost the will to fight altogether. He just nodded, mutely, and leaned helplessly onto Harry’s shoulder. In one swift movement Harry had reached under Louis, one arm on his back and the other under his knees, and hauled him out of the mud.

For a moment he stood there, gazing at Louis, holding him close as the clouds passed lazily above them. And then, they were flying.

Louis didn’t notice it at first. He was too wrapped up in his own anger and frustration and embarrassment to care about the sudden dizzying feeling that had taken over him. But then he looked up to see that Harry’s curls were floating, and then, he looked down to see that they were hovering at least a metre or two above the ground- the field passing effortlessly beneath Harry’s feet.

He gaped into the rushing silence, unable to believe the sight before his eyes. Understanding that Harry could do weird shit- that was okay. But actually _experiencing_ it was another situation entirely.

It was like nothing Louis had encountered in his life.

He felt safe in Harry’s arms, although he had no real reason to be. Anyone with a brain would’ve pointed out that flying across an open space at God-knows what speed with no protection was anything _but_. But Harry made it that way. Louis was suddenly filled with a rush of reassurance that Harry would never drop him, never hurt him- never let him come to any harm as long as he was in his arms. It made his problems feel small as he watched the grass rush by, felt the wind flap his fringe, and the problems in his head simmering into silence.

“It’s okay,” Harry spoke, noticing Louis’ troubled expression as they reached the house. “I’ve got you.”

He set them down on solid ground on the porch, and for a moment Louis stayed within his arms, swaying. His brain seemed to have been left behind on the field, and his mouth had been flapping open for a solid forty seconds.

“Louis,” Harry brushed a muddy, clinging fringe from Louis’ eyes. “I’ve got you. Okay?”

Louis nodded, finally closing his mouth, and Harry let him go. As they entered the house and clambered a narrow stairway, he felt his problems rush and hit him again, his grief worsening with every step. He needed to ask Harry about the planets. He needed to kiss him. He needed to do a great, great, many things, as well as saying thank you- but, again, his pride was taking a big fat seat on his chest, and didn’t want to move, not even for Harry. Sometimes, he wondered if it didn’t want him to live at all.

“I’m...I’m just gunna get you some clothes,” Harry muttered, and Louis didn’t know whether it was to him or himself. “Because clothes...Clothes would be good.”

As Harry wrestled with his wardrobe, Louis found himself once more trudging towards the drawings on Harry’s wall. They were _calling_ him, almost. All of the names, written in bold, meaning everything and nothing all at once- _Phantom Zone. Kandor. Argo City. Krypton._ What did they mean? What did it _all_ mean? Was Louis really about to jump to the conclusion building in his head right now?

“I know how you hate my sweaters,” Harry spoke, turning around. “So I tried to find the least offensive ones in my ensemble-”

He stopped, obviously noticing Louis’ intent, and lowered the clothes in his hands.

“Louis?”

Louis turned around, all muddy and tense and desperate, with the air of unstoppable curiosity burning in his lungs. This was it. He had to know. He had to.

“What’s Krypton?” He asked, before he could help himself.

For a moment Harry just stared, eyes darkening and face paling. A world of silence seemed to sit between them. And then, Harry took a few steps forwards, holding out the clothes. Louis numbly took them, watching every inch of Harry’s face. His lack of response was disconcerting.

“Please,” he muttered, if only to say anything. “I need to know.”

“Is this why you’ve been so strange lately?” Harry asked. “Because- because you know about Krypton?”

“What’s there to know?”

“Answer the question, Louis.” Harry’s voice went tight. “Please.”

“I didn’t know you’d noticed,” Louis admitted, guilt forcing his gaze away. Tension bundled his toes in a knot, and he was trying very hard just to keep himself together. Instead, he focused on the clothing in his hands- the multicoloured sweater, the baggy joggers. “That I’d been acting strange, or whatever.”

“Of course I’ve noticed,” Harry took a frustrated seat on the bed. “It’s just-I thought it was because you wanted to distance yourself from me.”

Louis stared at him for a moment, heart thumping. “Why on _Earth_ would you think that?”

Harry looked away from him, jaw tight. “I remembered some things I said. At the party, I mean.”

The heart inside of Louis began to pound. So...he knew?

“I thought you couldn’t remember anything.”

“I couldn’t,” Harry muttered, cheeks reddening. “But, in the days after...It just sort of came back to me.”

“Just like that?” Louis couldn’t help but feel on edge. “All of it, everything?”

“Not everything,” Harry spoke, eyelashes dark across a laboured face. “Just...snippets. I know...I know I said some stuff about feelings, that’s all. And I know it must’ve been awkward.”

Louis shook his head, feeling his throat constrict. No. This wasn’t the time for this...This was the time for the truth. He had to know. Then, he’d deal with the fallout and everything afterwards, he just...Had to know.

“Tell me about Krypton,” he said.

“No.”

“Harry-” Louis felt himself begin to cry. “If it is what I think it is, I think you might’ve already told me.”

“No.” Harry was standing up now, body taut- eyes glued to the wall.

“At the party...You said…”

“I know what I said.” Harry spoke, quickly, and his voice was heavy with disgust. “I _know_ what I said. The planet, the confession. The truth is, Lou- I can’t take another person rejecting me for this. Not when I just started to-to-”

He broke off, a wave of vulnerability hitting him, and for a moment the words seemed to have all gotten caught up in his throat. It took a dry half-sob to shock them free.

“-If you’re going to go- just _go.”_ Harry closed his eyes. “Everyone else does.”

His voice was laboured, his breaths shaky, and Louis could tell he was mustering all of his strength not to sob. He knew because he had been in this position before- breaking down the middle because he was holding back a secret, being too scared to let it loose out of fear.

“Who’s everyone?”

“Everyone is _everyone,”_ Harry made a vague gesture. “Every stranger. Every friend. Every person I’ve ever let in over the years- unless they had to put up with me, they’ve cast me out. Ridiculed me. Left.”

“I’m not them, Harry.” Louis promised, taking a muddy step forwards. “I won’t leave.”

Harry seemed unsure and so he remained silent, chin wobbling and shoulders shaking as he stared in the opposite direction.

“No matter what you have to say,” Louis inched one step closer. “I won’t leave. Just- tell me.”

“Even if you think you won’t, you will,” Harry said, and turned his face away from Louis; a thousand tensions painted upon his shoulders. “Bathroom’s on your left.”

-

Louis’ shower seemed to last for ages...or was that just Harry’s nerves speaking?

He didn’t know what to do or what to say anymore. He was just terrified Louis was going to leave, _knew_ that telling him everything would ruin what they had. No matter how much Harry was beginning to accept himself for who he was, the truth was that nobody else would. It was a bitter pill to swallow.

And so, he remained frozen on the bed, watching the clouds drift through parted blinds. In a way, he dreaded Louis’ return, and so when Louis walked through the doorway in Harry’s clothes, blinking and red-faced and guilty, Harry couldn’t help the expression of guilt that entered his face.

All he knew was that the true story would’ve come out at some point, regardless of what Harry said or did. At least if Louis left now, Harry would’ve been somewhat in control or responsible for the outcome. There had been so many times in his life that he hadn’t.

“I’m not from Smallville,” Harry started, quietly. “But you know that.”

Louis dropped his muddy clothes onto the floor and sat on Harry’s desk. He looked gorgeous up there, with the late afternoon sunshine drifting across his face, and his hair all wild and wet. The sleeves of the jumper Harry had given him were far too big, and so they engulfed his wrists and meant he’d had to roll them up to the elbow. As Harry spoke, he noticed how a sudden attentiveness took over Louis, causing his body to tighten and his cheeks to redden.

God, he really was beautiful- not that Harry would ever be able to tell him that. Not that Louis would ever want to talk to him again after he finished saying what he had to say.

“I’m not...from Holmes Chapel either,” Harry looked down. “In fact, I’m not even from this galaxy.”

There came a silence- Louis let out a short, panicked breath, but he didn’t seem all too surprised. “How do you know?”

“I...I landed in a meteorite eighteen years ago.” Harry pointed loosely to the ceiling. “It ruined my mothers’ crop field on their very first farm together. They were going to sell the meteorite for the money to help them replace the field, but there I was. They- they couldn’t leave me, so they adopted me. Renamed me. Tried to build a new life around a kid who could blast fire from his eyes.”

Louis just stared, body clenched, and Harry couldn’t tell if he was intrigued or disgusted. Either way, he couldn’t stand the strained silence, so he continued, the hope within him dimming.

“Krypton is the planet I was born on,” he said, almost too quietly to be heard. “That’s what I drew on the wall.  A planet light-years away. My family- they were Kryptonian, like me. They had to send me to Earth because the planet exploded, and they wanted to save my life. They thought that because humans and Kryptonians look so alike, I would be able to fit in here with little trouble.”

He laughed, humorlessly, and itched at his nape. “We both know how that played out.”

At that point it was pointless trying to keep from crying- every time he spoke, he felt the rejection in Louis’ expression grow deeper and deeper.

“When I said I didn’t know how I got my powers, I was lying. They’re from your sun. It has a weird effect on my dna,” Harry sniffed. “And as for the red sun I drew on the wall, the one you got the title of the playlist from- it was the sun of Krypton’s solar system, the one the rest of my people knew. And all I’ll ever have of my family, or my culture, or my language, is a meteorite in the loft with a giant _S_ on it. I was too young to remember anything on my own.”

Louis looked away, eyes watering also.

“So yeah,” Harry crumbled. “That’s the jist of it. I’m an alien.”

“You’re an alien,” Louis repeated, voice soft.

“Yep,” Harry popped the ‘p’.

As he held his breath, a chilling silence came over the room. Harry couldn’t bear to look at Louis in that moment; couldn’t bear to see the damage he’d caused. He was filled with an urge to escape, but sorrow kept his legs locked to the bed- fear pinning him paralysed until Louis’ verdict was heard. Harry didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to hear _anything-_ but the silence was such a horrible sound.

“It’s okay if you leave now,” he muttered, just to hear something over the sound of his heart splitting in two. “I know I probably repulse you, and I know you’re probably right to be repulsed. I’m a mess.”

He took off his glasses so that he could wipe his eyes, and sat for a moment, staring sadly into nothing. The next thing he knew, Louis was standing in front of him, cheeks reddened and brow low.

“Harry,” he said, quietly. “You could never, ever repulse me.”

And then, he placed two very firm hands on Harry’s shoulders, tugged him into a standing position, and kissed him.

It was difficult to describe, in Harry’s terms, what being kissed actually felt like. For an ordinary human it probably felt splendid, just the gentle meshing together of mouths, and the rush of a speeding heart- but to Harry, it was like an unstoppable sea of sensations and emotions lapping over one another, crashing and crashing and crashing as his poor brain struggled to find equilibrium…

Things hit him from everywhere. Things like the fact that because Louis had used his shower gel, he now smelt like mint. And the fact that because he was wearing Harry’s clothes, the baggy sleeves fell over his knuckles and made his grip on Harry’s jaw softer than it would’ve been in the first place. Harry could hear Louis’ pulse, as burning as his own, thumping away through the hands he had placed on Harry’s face- sinking down to his neck, thumbs exploring the terrain of untouched skin.

And then there was the kiss itself, which, considering Kryptonian lips had three times the sensitivity of human lips, was fucking mind blowing in its own right. Louis was kissing him so firmly that it seemed as though he was trying to prove a point- and Harry supposed, in his own weird way, he was.

When he pulled away, Harry felt so dizzy that he couldn’t speak. His lips parted, recovering from the touch, and for a moment he just stared, dazed, into Louis’ eyes...a thousand questions cluttering his already unfocused mind. Louis had kissed him…did that mean he liked him? And had done all this time, when Harry had been fretting and frowning and vowing never to think of him in such a way?

“You are an idiot,” Louis stated, factually.

He leaned in and kissed him again, this time a lot deeper, and Harry felt his arms reaching subconsciously to support Louis’ back as it arched against him, and his sorrow rapidly burning away.

“Why?” They parted again; Harry’s legs feeling weak as he spoke. “What did I do?”

“What did you do?” Louis closed his eyes in frustration. “Harry! You’ve had me climbing the fucking walls!”

Harry, still dazed, just stared at him, and thought about the fact that nobody had ever been this close to him in his entire life. It was intoxicating.

“Do you not know what you do to me? Do you have any _idea?”_ Louis was ranting, voice fuelled with frustration and anger and just a tiny bit of thinly-veiled excitement. “You had me gushing to a dog two weeks ago! A _dog!_ And all of that shit about you not wanting to kiss me because you thought I didn’t want it...did you ever think about _asking_ me? Did you ever think that me flirting with you was anything but platonic...no! You just did all your self-sacrificial shit, in true dumb, superheroic fashion- and left me all alone, falling in love with you and just _waiting_ for your farmboy ass to notice! And then you said all of that shit to me at the party, and _oh my God_ you make me want to scream sometimes! Do you have any idea of the effect you have on people when you do the things you do? I was late to football practice last night because I was thinking about holding your hand! Your Goddamn _hand!_ Do you really think it would matter to me where that hand came from? For fuck’s sake, you could have cow feet and I’d still worship the ground you walked on, you complete and utter dick!”

As the words sank into Harry’s head, all he could do was grin. “You gushed about me...To a dog?”

“Shut up,” Louis said, and kissed him- short and sweet. “Shut up, shut up, shut up.”

“I thought you didn’t...would never…” Harry closed his eyes between kisses, and particularly as Louis peppered his cheeks with them. “You never made a move, so I just thought…”

“I was waiting for you,” Louis murmured, against Harry’s neck. “I couldn’t go through with this without knowing what you were hiding, you ass. I guessed most of it after the party, but...I wanted to hear it from you. I _needed_ to.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, tugging Louis into a solid hug. “I let you down. I just...I was so scared. I always wanted...I never thought…”

He trailed off, just feeling the warmth of Louis’ cheek against his own, and the tickle of Louis’ spiky hair as it brushed against his ear. Harry couldn’t believe that any of it was real. The idea of holding Louis like this...without the fear of rejection...seemed all too good to be true.

“I just like _you_ , Harry,” Louis said, against the curve of Harry’s neck. “Nothing else matters.”

At that, Harry’s eyes began to water, and he was crying all over again: simply awash in the emotion of it all. Before long, he was sobbing into Louis, happiness and relief flooding from him, and then Louis was crying too- holding Harry’s head in the crook of his neck, and kissing and laughing and muttering with him. They were idiots. They were silly. But it was okay. It was all- okay.

“Nothing else matters,” Louis repeated, voice clouded with emotion, and then they were kissing once more: _really_ kissing, words and context discarded to the wind.

They weren’t kissing as perfectly as Harry had seen it done in the movies; their movements were sloppy, and driven by the all-consuming need just to feel _close_ to someone, but that was alright, because it was Louis. Everything was okay as long as it was Louis. It was as they fell onto the bed, hands roaming and the moment deepening, that Harry realised he’d fallen in love with him.

He realised that he was starting to need Louis like he needed any other part of himself. That Louis was an extension of his soul now, a key part of everything that Harry was and wanted to be. And so, the world forgotten, he just dove right into the experience of being with Louis, for the first time _fully,_ and could think of no grander thing in the world.

-

Harry had a soft body. Louis knew this because it was draped rather fully over Louis as he woke up the next morning, stomach roaring and mind bleary.

What happened last night? He remembered key stages of the time he’d spent with Harry. After all of the initial confessions and hugging and kissing, there had come some more kissing and hugging, and then some kissing on the bed, and then…something Louis couldn’t think about without flushing furiously into the pillow. Then, they’d talked and kissed some more, and Harry had brought some food and drinks up, so they could continue talking and kissing and talking, and Harry treated Louis as if he was his entire world.

Eventually, they’d just fallen asleep mid-kiss, which was evidently the case as Louis worked to untangle himself from numerous soft, naked limbs, most of which weren’t his. He didn’t exactly mind being intertwined with Harry in such a manner- he just didn’t want to squish or disturb him, and Harry looked so fucking perfect in that moment that Louis needed to take a step back and just process it all.

He’d spent the night with Harry Styles.

He was falling in _love_ with Harry Styles- stupid, stumbling, annoying Harry Styles, with more ugly sweaters than Louis had fingers to count them on, and ancestry quite literally out of this world. Ugh. God, Louis was a fool for him, this pink-cheeked cherub laying beside him, with a heart of gold and mid-morning sunlight hair to match. Louis reached out absentmindedly, toying with a thick curl cascading between Harry’s eyebrows.

Harry began to stir, eyelashes batting. “Sɪ…”

“Huh?” Louis beamed, delighted despite his confusion, and reached to cup Harry’s cheek in his hand. “What was that again?”

“Sɪ.tæn,” Harry slurred, rolling on the pillow, “mu lɑ̂oɹa tæn guɹ sa?”

Louis frowned a little in shock. The sounds leaving Harry’s mouth were like none he’d ever heard in his life, and it took him a moment to realise that he was speaking some kind of language.

“Er…” he frowned. _“Yes?”_

A sleepy grin took ahold of Harry’s expression, and he opened an incredibly green eye.

“Zhao,” he mumbled. “I was asking you how you were.”

“Zhao,” Louis repeated, dumbfounded.

“Yes,” Harry shuffled forwards, putting his arm around Louis’ shoulder. “Zhao being love. Sɪ.tæn being hello. Mu lɑ̂oɹa tæn guɹ sa being…”

“How are you,” Louis began to grin. “It’s your planet’s language, isn’t it? It’s...Kryptonish.”

“Krypton _ian,”_ Harry amended, and closed his eyes once more. “Thought...thought it’d be nice if you heard a little.”

“It’s lovely,” Louis declared, shuffling closer into his arms. “Say some more to me.”

“I don’t know that much,” Harry admitted. “Just...snippets of it. My parents always frowned upon me learning when I was younger, so my knowledge is a little...patchy.”

“How come?” Louis frowned. “It’s your culture. Your language. You have a right to learn it.”

“M’not exactly good at multitasking,” Harry’s voice was full of sleep. “They tried guiding me through it when I was six. Ended up yelling at school, calling a kid in my class a _b_ _y_ _thgr._ Tyrant.”

Louis laughed at that, and then quietened, gently poking Harry’s cheek with rising levels of interest. “But you’re older now.”

“That I am,” Harry closed his eyes. “Doesn’t mean I’m any better at multitasking.”

For a few minutes they just lay there, falling in and out of sleep, Louis playing with Harry’s curls, and a lazy smile gathering on Harry’s face every now and then. Eventually, Harry caught Louis’ hand with his own, and looked him with an expression that bordered on resigned.

“I know you have your questions,” he said, quietly.

“I didn’t want to bombard you.”

“That went out of the window as soon as you kissed me.”

Louis scowled. “You consider my kisses _bombarding?”_

“No,” Harry raised an eyebrow. “I consider _you_ bombarding. There’s a clear difference.”

Louis rolled his eyes and propped himself up on his hand, deciding what to ask first. There was so much and so little in his mind that he wasn’t entirely sure on what to say.

“Does anyone know your home planet exists? Or- existed?”

“Not that I know of,” Harry blew up his cheeks in thought. “I don’t think- I don’t think there’s ever been anyone like me here.”

“Do you ever miss it?”

“I don’t remember it, Lou,” Harry shrugged. “I don’t know if you can miss something you never knew.”

Kind of like Louis with his family, then. There had been endless nights where Louis had tried to think about them, about contacting them- but it was like reaching into an abyss. _Hopeless._ Louis pushed that thought to the side and focused on running a free hand through Harry’s curls, reasoning that his domestic problems could wait. There was something a lot more wonderful waiting on the other side for him now. 

“Sometimes I have dreams, though,” Harry muttered. “About what it would’ve been like living there. What it would been like knowing my birth parents. I suppose I would’ve had an entirely different life if things had been different. I would’ve been considered...normal.”

“Well, as normal as one can get with such weird tastes in fashion,” Louis teased. “Was their culture totally different from ours?”

“Not that different,” Harry closed his eyes, soothed by Louis’ touch in his hair. “Dickheads were still in power. The class system was still a thing. Politicians ignored science constantly, hence the explosion…it’s weird, but the older I get, the more I begin to realise why they chose Earth as the place for me to go.”

Louis ran a finger along Harry’s bare shoulder. “How did you start learning the language? If the whole planet exploded, I mean?”

“There’s a computer inside of the meteorite I landed in,” Harry explained. “We keep it in the loft. I’d introduce you, but...it doesn’t really react well to strangers.”

Louis’ eyes widened. “It _talks?”_

“Yes,” Harry batted his eyes. “Of _course_ it talks. What meteorite doesn’t?”

Shaking his head, Louis wondered what the fuck he’d gotten into. His entire world had changed ever since he met Harry...not that that was a bad thing. But it was different now. Things that should’ve been strange to hear weren’t. Things he used to worry about, like mindless gossip at school, or what the latest sports news was...just didn’t matter to him anymore. Although he made it hectic and unpredictable, Harry had truly Louis’ life in proportion for him.

And Louis could not have been more grateful.

He shuffled close to Harry, so close that their bare chests touched, and Louis could count all of Harry’s eyelashes and the faded freckles scattered upon his nose. He looked so different with his glasses off- so sincere. With most people the effect was the opposite.

Louis didn’t come this close just to look at Harry, though. He shuffled forwards instead, so that his head fell snugly into the crook of Harry’s neck, and his cheek became squished against his shoulder.

“Did they name you?” Louis asked, and for some reason it fell in a whisper. “Your parents?”

A flash of doubt obscured the light in Harry’s eyes, and for a moment he seemed unsure about divulging this particular piece of information. He gnawed on a very full bottom lip and ran his fingers through Louis’ hair and down his back.

“Kal-El’s my real name,” he said. “Officially. But I don’t like going by it much.”

Louis closed his eyes against Harry’s shoulder, feeling sleepy once more. “It suits you.”

“Thanks.” Harry let out a sigh that made Louis feel as though the both of them were sinking. “I don’t think I’ve told anyone that, you know. I don’t even know if my parents know.”

Louis felt a flood of emotion fill his chest, and he kissed Harry’s shoulder in what he hoped was an adequate note of thanks _._ “I don’t know what to say.”

He felt Harry smile against his hair, the solemn tone of the conversation wearing thin. “Say I can ask a question now.”

“Go on, then,” Louis snorted. “You _can_ ask a question now.”

“Are we dating now?”

Louis leaned up, his hair wild and his chin nearly touching Harry’s. “Do you _want_ to be dating now?”

“Yes,” Harry bit back a toothy grin. “I mean, if you do. If you’d be okay with that. I really don’t know how this works. Am I meant to ask you, or are you meant to ask me? It was never made clear how you’re supposed to-”

“-Harry,” Louis cut him short, a finger pressing lightly into Harry’s bottom lip. “We’re dating.”

“Alright.” Harry beamed slowly, dimples melting into his cheeks.

For a second he gazed at Louis like he was unable to believe his luck. Then, he was giggling, skin all pink and endless under the sunlight, and a thousand moments of happiness reflected in his eyes.

“Heyyy,” he glowed, gently prodding and tickling at Louis’ face. “You’re my boyfriend.”

“Yes,” Louis nodded. “I am.”

“Oh my God,” Harry began to rapidly cackle, hands coming up to cover his mouth. “You really had a crush on me? That’s so _embarrassing.”_

He looked absolutely elated at this fact.

“Not as embarrassing as your hair right now,” Louis retorted, rolling fully on top of Harry, kissing and gnawing at his jaw. “Looks like you were fucking electrocuted.”

“At least mine doesn’t look like I ran through a bush,” Harry teased, and Louis grabbed his hands in order to tickle him, but instead just sort of ended up laying there...holding his hands.

“What now, then?” he found himself asking, heart thumping from the heat of the moment, and his heart feeling happier than it had in years (those damned dimples).

“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, squeezing Louis’ hands. “Boyfriendy things, I suppose.”

 _“Boyfriendy things._ Alright.” Louis conceded, leaning in. “I suppose I can manage that.”

-

The next few days were, undoubtedly, the happiest of Harry’s life.

He had Louis, for starters, and for a while they just resided within their own happy little bubble, unknown to everyone else, sneaking private moments when they could. They held hands on the bus, for example. Kissed after class. Smiled extremely fondly to one another from across the football pitch. And, after school, they’d go places and chat. Most nights, they found themselves in the farm’s barn, keeping the cows company and playing football on the fields until the stars fizzled into fruition.

Even aside from Louis, Harry’s life had become ecstatic beyond measure. It was almost as if Louis’ presence in his life boosted everything else, even when he wasn’t there with Harry. His night escapades, for example, grew only more successful as Harry gained confidence. One night, he stopped two muggings, one drunk driver and a biker going way over the legal limit. It was safe to say that everything was going perfectly...until the week later.

At first, everything had seemed normal. Harry had walked into school that Monday morning with Louis by his side, as he always did. The hallways were awash with posters for the spring dance, and students were gathering around the lockers, as they always did in the morning, to catch up with their friends, or exchange the latest gossip.

As far as Harry was concerned, the only way that day was going to be any different from the rest was because Louis had decided to tell Niall and Liam that Harry and him were _a thing._

“It’ll be weird if I don’t tell them _officially,”_ he’d explained to Harry the week before. “They don’t really deal with gossip in the same ways normal humans do. Instead of just asking us, they’ll let it fester and fester and fester, and then shout HA at the first sight of us doing anything remotely coupley in public, like it was all one big secret they just Sherlocked the Hell out of.”

“But it’s not,” Harry had said, dumbfounded. “I mean- we made out on the bus the other day.”

“Still,” Louis blinked, exasperated. “Just trust me on this one, spaceboy. It’ll be fine.”

But as soon as they entered the crowded school hallway, Harry knew that that was the least of their worries. For, in the middle of a giant group of popular people beside a locker, stood Niall- smiling so brightly it looked as though his face might crack.

Louis had instantly frowned. “What the fuck?”

It was generally known at Smallville High that Niall was not the most popular of people. There was a reason why their clique was called “the jacket alliance” and not “the conventional alliance”. People of the popular persuasion simply didn’t flock to them...making Niall’s sudden celebrity status more than alarming.

Louis taking the lead, they waded through thick teenage crowd until they were close enough to understand what was going on over the commotion. Niall had a series of newspapers in his hands, and seemed to be handing them out avidly, rants so loud they could be heard for miles-

“-Nobody knows where he comes from for sure. But I’m telling you now, it’s going to be top-tier news by tomorrow. Top frickin’ news.”

“But how do you know it’s a guy?” a girl asked, chewing avidly on the gum in her mouth.

“Oh, trust me, I know,” Niall wiggled his eyebrows.

“-Niall,” Louis interrupted, shoulders tight from beneath his battered denim jacket. “What the bloody fuck are you doing?”

“Tending to my fans, Louis,” Niall grinned, handing him a stack of newspapers. “Here. Make yourself useful, and pass these around, yeah?”

Louis held the papers up with a weighty level of disgust. The front page read _Smallville’s own Vigilante?_ in big bold text, and had beneath it an image of a bright red blur. Harry felt his stomach drop in horror. It was a photo of him taken the night before- just after he’d stopped a group of men from reading an elderly woman’s pin number. Someone must’ve snuck a photograph when he wasn’t looking, and now the entire school had seen it…

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Harry internally began to panic. When Louis met his gaze, he looked equally as worried. This wasn’t anything they’d planned for.

At all.

“I still don’t understand what I’m looking at,” Louis tried for diplomacy.

“I’m surprised you didn’t catch onto the story sooner,” Niall couldn’t help but boast. “This guy’s been doing this shit for weeks, apparently. It’s what I’ve been working on. Miscellaneous reports of a guy running around at night in a red hoodie, stopping crime and keeping the peace. CCTV around the area has always been too slow to catch him. But last night a bystander pulled through, taking this- and now we have a lead. A solid, _local_ lead!”

“I don’t see the appeal,” Louis spoke, to the disapproval of the people around him. “Some guy running around being decent isn’t exactly front page news.”

Harry knew that he was trying to diffuse the situation, and appreciated it massively, but Niall seemed to be on a roll when it came to excitement, and even more unlikely to stop soon. If anything, Louis’ skepticism only made things worse.

“You missed the best part,” Niall said. “This bloke- whoever he is- he runs faster than a speeding bullet. Lifted up three entire guys at once, according to one of my sources. And God knows what else. There’s even been reports of him flying-”

“-Flying?” Louis scoffed. “Niall, listen to yourself. There’s no way anyone’s gunna buy this.”

“Mr Crofter already has,” Niall childishly stuck out his tongue. “The front page of the school newspaper’s already mine. And God knows what else this’ll bring if I can turn more stuff out on the guy…Kaching kaching kaching.”

Louis rolled his eyes. Beside him, Zayn Malik perked up, his presence causing a few members of the crowd to swoon.

“I personally think it’s amazing,” he said, taking a paper from Louis’ hands. “Someone out there, making this place safe at night, doing things that nobody else can...it’s incredible.”

Harry felt his stomach warm at that. It was why he’d done it, after all- to prove himself, and finally make a difference.

“We’re gunna call him _Superman,”_ Niall declared, and the crowd began to cheer.

“Why?” Harry found himself asking. “Isn’t that a bit presumptuous?”

He flushed as the crowd turned to him as though they’d never seen him before in their lives. Who was he kidding? They probably hadn’t. Aside from the Stenlock incident weeks ago Harry had remained pretty much invisible, a nobody to everyone.

Well. Not everyone.

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I knew, Haz,” Niall winked. “This guy isn’t just super good. He’s super fast, super strong, super agile…”

“Super good at making you money...” Louis muttered, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, well,” Niall raised an eyebrow. “Just be mad you didn’t think of it first.”

He walked off, the crowd excitedly following him, and for a moment Louis just stared at the newspaper in solid shock.

“You know when I said Niall wasn’t that annoying?” He said, voice detached.

“Yeah,” Harry frowned, moving closer to him. “You said to take a chance on him, because he wasn’t that bad, and he makes mistakes, just like every other human being…”

“Yeah. Well,” Louis’ mouth became a solid line. “Forget that. Cos I’m gunna kill him.”

-

Louis didn’t end up killing Niall.

Instead, he allowed his quiet resentment towards the Superman subject to burn between them for the next week, over which it caught the eye of not only local tv, but several outside newspapers as well. Niall became the face of the campaign, a fact that Harry could not have been happier for. After all, Niall didn’t really have that much proof, and seemed more ecstatic about finally being in the limelight than actually informing anyone about the mysterious man in red and blue.

Harry’s appearances at night became more sporadic then on out, mostly because every time he helped or saved someone, they usually had a camera in tow, and he caught many disillusioned kids from their school pretending to be hurt just so they could get a glimpse of him. Someone even asked if he could take them for a joy-ride, which made him laugh.

But he didn’t want to be a celebrity, not really. He despised attention, even under the mask, and felt as though turning his powers into some big exploitation game was only a few steps away from becoming the freak show his parents had feared from the very beginning.

“This Superman...do you think there’s any truth to it?” Suzanne asked him.

It was a week after Niall had written his piece on Smallville’s very own vigilante, and on a night that Harry had purposefully chosen to stay indoors, mostly to shake off his parent’s not-so-subtle suspicions of him, and also so he could get some actual homework done instead of carefully avoiding fans under nightfall.

“To him? Well, maybe,” Harry shrugged, focusing deliberately on his homework. “I think it’s believable that someone would see the things wrong with this town, and wanna put things right.”

“Yeah, but in that way?” Suzanne frowned, tucking her hair behind her ear. She was writing down their sales of milk for the month, and working out what supplies they needed for the month ahead. “Do you really think going out at night, looking like some kind of gang member, is the answer?”

Harry almost felt wounded. “He doesn’t look like a _gang member.”_

“Okay. So riddle me this,” Suzanne met his eye. “You’re a young kid. Lost, around eight years old, running about in the dark. This guy- this _Superman-_ comes up to you in a black mask and hoodie. Do you feel protected, or do you feel terrified beyond belief?”

This was a point Harry repeated to Louis that same night on the phone. He wasn’t that great with phones, but after much badgering (and quite a lot of pleading) Michael had let him borrow hers at times when he was desperate to talk to Louis (and it was too late, in his parents’ eyes, to go out).

“So, what you’re saying is, you want a superhero costume?” Louis asked, excitement clear over the phone.

“I’m not saying I want a _superhero_ costume,” Harry said, leaning against the wall of his loft. It was where he always went when he wanted to be alone- where he escaped to when things got _too much._ “I just- I don’t want people to be afraid of me.”

“I still think your best bet is a bright coloured costume for that,” Louis spoke. “I mean, it’ll only make Niall worse, but, you know…”

He trailed off, disapproval clear. Harry would’ve liked to think his displeasure was completely founded on the fact that Niall was profiting off of Harry’s actions, but he also knew Louis, and knew that Louis hated nothing more than a brag (especially one of the Niall variation).

“I can’t just not do things because they would affect Niall, you know,” Harry shook his head. “He may be annoying, but he doesn’t make the world go around.”

“Sorry. I just- I don’t want what he’s doing to hurt you.”

“I know,” Harry spoke, determined. “It won’t.”

Louis let out a deep sigh, and as he always did when things got a little too serious, decided to switch it up.

“So. A costume,” he said, his grin audible over the line. “I’m thinking there should definitely be a cape involved.”

“Oh, no.” Harry shook his head, and began to walk around the loft, laughter building. “Definitely not.”

“Hey, they help with direction changing in flight, apparently. Or that’s what I’ve read.”

“My flying is perfectly fine,” Harry argued. “Anyway. Capes are corny.”

“Then they’ll match you, you picky little bastard,” Louis said, and Harry burst into a laugh. “Either way you have it, you’ve gotta include red and blue in there. They’re sort of, like- your colours now. The people demand it.”

“You make it sound as though I’ve got a fanbase.”

“Haven’t you?” Louis snorted. “God, the way people were on about you at school today. I was almost jealous.”

“You really don’t need to worry,” Harry sat on a box opposite his meteorite, and wished he was holding Louis. He’d spent so much time with him lately that distance was like a knife in the stomach. “I really am smitten with you.”

“Oh, thanks,” Louis said, sarcastically.

“I’m serious,” Harry smiled against the phone. “I think you might be it for me. _Uldif chao zhindif.”_

Louis began to cackle. “If that means _forever and always_ I’m going to fight you.”

“Hah,” Harry closed his eyes and running his hands over one another, imagining Louis was there with him. “I really do love talking to you, you know.”

“Even though I’m a dick?”

“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Feels safe.”

“Shouldn’t you be the one making me feel safe?” Louis asked. “I mean, superpowers and all.”

“I save you,” Harry spoke. “You save me right back.”

Louis seemed to think on that for a while, because the line fell into a comfortable silence, and Harry became awash in his own thoughts. He didn’t even notice Louis was talking to him again until his voice picked up, undoubtedly indicating a rise in excitement.

“Of course, if you’re going to have a costume, we have to go full on with the cliches,” he was saying, as Harry tuned back in. “Pants over tights. Contrasting colours. And you’ll need some sort of picture on the chest. Like Spider-Man has a spider, Captain America has a star…”

“...I have an alien?” Harry frowned. “I mean, what sort of thing are you…”

“A symbol, H. Something that has relevance to you but people’ll be able to recognise in a heartbeat. Something cool. Something _iconic.”_

Harry walked up to the meteorite and placed his hand upon its rough exterior, feeling the bumps where the S had clearly been indented. A symbol, right?

He couldn’t help the smile that dawned on his face in that moment: the pieces in his mind slotting together in rapid formation.“I think I have just the thing.”


	9. Chapter 9

9: the wallflower

In all honesty, Harry had completely forgotten about the spring dance until Michael brought it up one night, channel flicking between mindless soaps and the latest news reports on “Smallville’s Superman”. The buzz had mostly calmed down, much to Niall’s dismay, but Harry couldn’t ignore the looks Suzanne and Michael gave him sometimes, like they were on the very cusp of asking him about it…   


However, the look Michael was giving him that night was entirely different. She appeared to be smirking at him from the other side of the sofa, a hand on her face and her eyes laced with patience. All Harry could think was:  _ oh boy. _

“I hear there’s a spring dance happening at your school,” she said.

“I’ve heard that too,” Harry spoke, diplomatically, and flipped a page in his English notes. It was hard to concentrate on Macbeth with Michael’s beady eyes were burning into him. 

“So?”

“So…” Harry peered over the top of his book.

“Are you gunna ask someone, then?” Michael crossed her arms. “How about that bloke with the scarf? He seems nice?”

“Liam?” Harry nearly choked on his spit. “No, no, mum. We’re- we’re just friends.”   


“That blonde one, then. Ni-” She frowned to herself. “Nigel?”

“Niall.” Harry laughed, turning a page. “He’s the one who started the whole Superman charade, you know.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a problem for you?”

Yes, Harry thought. God, yes. Inbetween the constant chaos and the attention Niall had unwittingly thrown upon him, Harry’s schedule had been filled to the brink with costume planning, catchphrase-making, and time awake he undoubtedly should’ve spent sleeping.

“No, no, it’s just-” Harry flushed. “We’re just friends as well.” 

“Well, that’s boring.” Michael blew out her cheeks. “So, you’re not asking anyone at all?”

Harry bit his lip, unsure of how much to divulge. The truth was, he wasn’t sure if Louis was the kind of guy that would’ve wanted to go to a spring dance. He hadn’t asked Harry yet, and Harry wasn’t sure if he was meant to ask him, and with all of the superheroism and cuddling and kissing and schoolwork he just hadn’t gotten around to it. The fact that it was in two days showed how far a lack of planning and plain stupid anxiety could get you- Harry was dateless, suitless, and completely at a loss of what to do.

“I did have someone in mind,” Harry admitted, quietly. “But I’m not sure if I should...er. Ask them or not?”

Michael grinned and slid next to him, and Harry knew he’d made a mistake. Here comes the third degree, he thought, miserably.

“Tell Momma everything,” she cooed, pinching his cheek.

“Alright, alright,” Harry went red. “It’s not- it’s not that big of a deal, okay? It’s just. My friend. Louis.”

Michael looked at him expectantly.

“My _ boyfriend, _ Louis,” Harry amended. “And, before you ask, we haven’t been going out for long, and yes, I was gunna tell you.”

“When?” Michael crossed her arms, “Harry, a woman cannot live on farming alone. Where is my gossip?”

“There isn’t much to tell,” Harry admitted. “He’s nice, we get on, and-”

“-Does he know about you?” Michael pressed. “Your secret?”

Harry grimaced, heart thumping in his chest. If he lied about it, he’d feel guilty about it for all time. If he didn’t lie about it, he had no idea how they would react. The entire basis of his childhood had been about discretion, pure and simple- and he hated feeling like he was betraying their trust somehow. The fact he’d been sneaking out for weeks on end had been resting for days as a heavy weight of guilt on his chest, let alone the Superman thing...

Oh, Hell. If Harry didn’t stop lying to them now, he never would.

He bit the bullet, and said: “Yes?”

Michael closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Honey…”   


“I know, I know,” Harry sighed. “I know you guys would’ve wanted to know all of this. But I feel like...I’m becoming my own person, you know? And sometimes I need to make my own decisions, and-”

“Chuck, I’m not denying that,” Michael put her hands square on his shoulders. “We love being a part of your life. And we like- being told about big things like this. When we’re not- we freak out.”

“I know,” Harry looked away, adjusting his glasses.

“Is that why you didn’t tell us?”

“No!” Harry spoke, quickly. “Yes. I don’t know. It just...it feels so new, you know? And I felt so lucky...I thought talking about it would make it disappear, or something.”

Michael’s eyes were sad. “Or you were afraid we’d ruin it.”

“No! I don’t think that,” Harry held her hand. “It’s just hard to explain, okay?”

“Honey,” Michael put her hand on his cheek. “I’m not one for dumb emotional crap. And you know that. But we’re always here for you, no matter what.”

Harry felt his eyes water, suddenly feeling silly. “I know.”

“And no matter what you do, we will always love and support you, bla bla bla bla bla,” Michael expressed, eyes soft. “Even if we have a bit of a meltdown first.”   


“I know,” Harry let out a short breath. “I just didn’t want to let you down.”

“You could never let us down,” Michael kissed him on the forehead. “Now, did he ask you out or did you ask him?”

They spent the best of the next half an hour talking about Louis- or, in Harry’s case, swooning and giggling and being so lovesick it was embarrasing. Michael, as always, was a good listener, even though her interjections were way more literal than Suzanne’s would have been.

“Harry Edward Styles!” Michael exclaimed, hands in the air. “He sounds perfect! Why the bloody Hell haven’t you asked him yet?”

Harry flushed for a second, messing with his glasses once more. When it came to Louis, Harry’s feelings always felt a little blurred, and his actions were nearly always irrational. Mixed with his previous inexperience and awkwardness, he wondered how Louis was able to bear him at times.

“I guess I’m scared,” Harry fidgeted with his hands.

“The kid who can melt walls with his eyes is scared.” Michael smiled at him wryly, standing and pulling a heavy fashion catalogue from the bookcase behind them. “Now, if that isn’t the most Harry thing I’ve ever heard.”

Harry flushed and beamed, despite himself. It was all a part of his _Harryness_ , as Louis would say.

“What are you doing?” He asked, distracted, as Michael began flicking through the catalogue in her hands.

“Finding you a suit to hire,” she replied, pinning him with a stare. “Then, you’re gunna ask that damn boy to dance with you already.”

-

Louis loved Liam, but he was clingy at times, especially when he wanted an opinion on something. 

Louis’ entire Wednesday lunchtime had been filled with Liam asking him about his thoughts on various suits and ties in the English club room, which wouldn’t have been that bad if Louis didn’t have five essays, three assignments, and two articles to finish before the week was up.

“No offence, Liam,” he said, grimacing over an article on fencing. “But I have more to worry about than whether mahogany would match your eyes better than lilac.”

It was at that moment the door swung open, and Louis’ heart could’ve fucking soared. 

Harry walked into the club room with his curls tousled from the rush of the hallway, his bag loosely hanging from his shoulder, and a giant mustard sweater hanging from the rest of him. It had a cactus on the centre and was, as always, rather ugly, but God. The way Louis was feeling, it may as well have been shining fucking armour. Harry had been the only soothing balm to Louis’ various stresses and frustrations lately.   


How had he ever lived without him?

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry explained, steps fast and smile apologetic. “I got held back in maths. Did someone say something about lilac?”

Louis reached for him. “Save me. Please.”

Harry laughed, breathlessly, and took Louis’ hands in his own; wrapping his arms fully around Louis’ torso from behind. “Consider yourself saved.”

Liam shook his head and tutted. “Get a room.”

“We did,” Louis leaned onto Harry’s hands. “Far as I’m aware, you’re sitting in it.”

“Ignore him,” Harry said, squishing his face against Louis’ cheek. “He’s just cranky because his written expression sucks.”

“It does noooooooooot,” Louis whined, holding onto Harry’s arm. “Lies and slander.”

“His feedback expression sucks too,” Liam sighed and stood. “I’ve been trying to pick out a tie for hours, and all he’s been bloody saying is I don’t know Liam, do I look like  _ Giorgio Armani? _ ”

“I could help, if you want?” Harry asked, innocently enough. Liam and Louis hissed  _ NO _ in simultaneous fashion, much to Harry’s obvious dismay. 

“No offence, or anything,” Liam added, and Louis cackled.

“You two are just bullies,” Harry mumbled, and Louis rubbed his arm in compensation.

He was glad that things had mostly stayed the same between the four of them. Louis hadn’t been in a committed, actual relationship before, and was quite frankly unsure of how Niall and Liam would react. 

The announcement itself had occurred a week before, two days after the Superman hysteria had began, and consisted of Harry and Louis arriving at their lunch table together, holding hands.

Louis had said: “Okay?”

And Niall and Liam had just sort of...laughed and nodded.

Since then, it had been as normal as ever between the four. Niall and Liam still bickered with one another, Harry and Louis still teased one another, and there had been no real sense of annoyance or embarrassment between the group.

Or...much of it, at least.

“Anyway, I’m gunna go find Niall,” Liam said, cheerily. “He may be an idiot, but he’ll be more use to me than you two are right now.”   


“Ooooh,” Louis bit. “Shots fired.”

“We’ll see you later, Li,” Harry smiled, forever the polite one.

For a few moments Louis closed his eyes and just lay in his arms, more than willing to just stay there and forget the world. Harry obviously had other plans, because he moved to the seat next to him, and brushed the fringe from Louis’ eyes. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Yeah,” Louis sighed. “S’just. I can’t be arsed and everything is shit.”

“I know,” Harry soothed, Louis’ cheek in his palm. God, his hands were so soft. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Keep doing that,” Louis closed his eyes once more. “And maybe...I don’t know. Set my computer on fire?”

“I don’t think that’s feasible,” Harry said, chuckling. “But I can do this.”

There was a pause; Harry’s scent grew stronger, and then, he was laying kisses all over Louis’ forehead. It felt like heaven. Louis sighed in pure bliss and leaned into it, never being able to get over the fact of how softly Harry always touched him, like he was something precious, something worth cherishing. He would never be able to get over how ridiculously cheesy Harry was, either. When he was done kissing Louis’ forehead he placed a hand at the back of Louis’ neck, tilted his chin down so he could kiss him on the top of the head, and then tugged him in for a hug.

Louis just whined into his chest, warm and snug and safe. “You’re a godsend, do you know that?”

Harry chuckled, and his tummy vibrated with the effort.

“No, seriously,” Louis snuggled further into him. “I don’t give a fuck about destiny. You literally fell from the sky especially so you could hold me, alright? Don’t ever stop.”

Harry tousled his fingers through Louis’ hair, voice low and quiet as he asked: “Do you want to go to the dance with me?”

Louis sat up a little so he could frown at him. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Harry said, and then frowned in return. “Wait- do you not want to go?”

“Of course I want to go,” Louis blinked. “I thought- I thought it was an unspoken thing that we were going together, H. Did you not think we were going?”

A pause, in which Harry’s cheeks flushed pink, and Louis fell just a little more in love with him.

“Don’t ever stop being this much of an idiot,” Louis whispered, and nudged his nose into Harry’s cheek. “I mean it. Don’t ever.”

-

For some stupid reason Harry couldn’t pinpoint, he felt more nervous for the dance than he had for anything in his life. He spent the best of two hours fiddling with his suit before it started: undoing and redoing his tie, messing with his cufflinks, feeling silly in his big shiny shoes. His restless feet lead him to the barn, naturally, where he ended up chatting to Edmund just to dispel his nerves.

“I feel like my heart’s on the floor,” he explained, with great dramatics. “Like, it’s just flopping around down there, and I can’t do anything about it. Do you ever feel like that?”

He looked up to her, and she just swung her tail with lazy arrogance, either not listening to his plight or uncaring. She was heavy with calf now- her stomach a grand weight beneath her- and most days she didn’t seem to care about anything.

“I mean, you must get nervous sometimes,” he pushed, desperate for some kind of reaction that said he wasn’t alone. For fuck’s sake, the dance started in half an hour- and there Harry was, stood in his shiny rented suit, pouring his heart out to a cow. “I just…I just need a sign to be brave.”

There was a knock on the barn door, and Michael came through, a box in her hands.

“Found it on the porch,” she said, shrugging. “Must’ve been there ages. It’s addressed to you, though, so I suppose you better open it.”

Harry frowned and scanned it with his x-ray vision. _Clothes?_

“Uh, thanks,” he said, taking it in hand. He waited until she was gone before sitting it down on a hay bale and opening it, fingers gliding over the cardboard.

On top of a heavy plastic bag was a note, on which the following words were written:

_ Hey, idiot. _

_ I know you’re not into the superhero costume thing much, but I saw these beautiful pieces when I was out and couldn’t help but think of you. You don’t have to wear it, of course, but you’ve gotta at least admit the stitching on the chest is damn good, even for me. _

_ (Yes, I stitched the symbol on myself. Don’t laugh. It’s not as if they sell Kryptonian emblems at the supermarket, is it?) _

_ Anyway, in case I never say it out loud, this is to thank you for everything. I always used to think that when you loved someone, you were the one who changed. But when I’m around you- or when I think of you- everything around me becomes a little softer. _

_ In case I also never say it out loud, I love you. And I’m proud of you. _

_ See you later, honey. Don’t be too late saving the world. _

 

  * __L__



For a moment Harry stood there, eyes welling with tears and stomach exploding with pride. 

God- Louis loved him! He really really loved him! 

In the back of his head, he could’ve sworn he heard angels singing for them in that moment. His fingers were so gentle as they put the note aside and examined the contents of the box. Inside lay:

  * A pair of tights (thin, blue, flimsy)
  * A pair of red shorts (two sizes too small, but bringing a smile to Harry’s face nonetheless)
  * A pair of bright red wellies
  * A belt (yellow, incredibly thick, incredibly obnoxious- God, Harry loved him)
  * A bright red cape
  * A long-sleeved t-shirt, also blue, with a hand-stitched S in the centre, the felt painted yellow and red.



Harry stared at it for a while, hopelessly crying happy tears, and the cows surrounding him, confused. Edmund nudged his shoulder with a frown on her face.

“Yes, Ed,” Harry sniffed, radiating pure happiness. “That’s right. I’m in love.”

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, giggling and grinning and crying, but it was long enough that he didn’t realise what the time was until it was far too late. He sprang into action having seen that the dance started five whole minutes ago, patted Edmund goodbye, rushed the box into his bedroom and hurried back down the stairs.

“Mama, you haven’t seen a car pull up yet, have you?” he asked, and Suzanne jumped in the doorway.

“Jesus, you can’t just sneak up on me like that!” she shook her head. “And no, there hasn’t been anyone. Wait- why? Aren’t you meant to be at the dance by now?”

“Yeah…” Harry frowned, looking out of the door. “Louis was supposed to pick me up.”

“Maybe he’s just got stuck in traffic,” Suzanne offered, optimistically. 

Harry, however, was unsure. He continued to stare into the evening, jaw tight, and an unsettled feeling rolling around in his stomach.

“Yeah,” he said, frowning further. “Maybe…”

-

Louis should’ve known his luck was too good to be fucking true. He should’ve just known it.

The day had gone well so far. He’d managed to drop off the parcel outside of Harry’s house without him noticing, fit in an after-school shift at the vets, and rent a suit with very little hassle. Hell, Granny Viv had even let him borrow her car. The plan was that, after leaving work, he’d make his way home, get changed, and haul Granny Viv’s car over to Harry’s as quickly as possible. If he had time, he may have even stopped to buy roses.

Wrong.

Louis made it about two streets past the vets before finding himself being tugged backwards and into a nearby alleyway, the high-pitched squeak that emerged sounding weird in his throat. Disoriented, he fell to the ground, and frowned as the sunset glared in his face.

Standing in front of it was a very tired looking Stenlock Marsden.

His hair was greasy and defying its natural bullet-like shape, stray, over-oiled needles protruding from his head at every angle. He was wearing a battered up hoodie, and his eyes were so dark it looked as though he hadn’t slept for weeks.

Suddenly, the fact that he hadn’t turned up to school was making sense. 

Louis got up and backed away, anger and fear simultaneously rising in his stomach. “What do you want, Stenlock?”

Stenlock stared at him, bottom lip jutting out at an angle. It was almost purple in the light- grotesque to look at. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“Uh, I dunno,” Louis continued to back away. “Why don’t we ask him?”

He got his phone out from his pocket, figuring that if he called Harry’s house phone that at least someone would answer- but Stenlock had knocked it out of his hand before it made his ear.

“Hey!” He scowled, stepping forwards- Stenlock just shoved him back.

“You’re not leaving here,” Stenlock said, and he seemed almost deranged. “You’re not leaving here until you give me what I want.”   


“And what’s that?” Louis feigned bravery, but his anger was starting to give way to pure worry and confusion at that point. He was still in his stupid bright pink veterinary shirt, for fuck’s sake. How the Hell would he ever come off as intimidating? “Is this to do with the football team? Because Harry’s not taking the place. You can have it.”

“It’s not that simple and you know it,” Stenlock seethed. “I was kicked. They won’t let me back on for nothing.”

“Well, maybe you should just- I don’t know-” Louis was at his wits’ end. “Re-apply, then? Because I honestly don’t know what I should-”

“Tell me how Harry’s so fast,” Stenlock stated, and Louis felt as though his brain was falling out.

“What?”

“Tell me how he’s so fast. And strong,” Stenlock pushed, as Louis backed further into the alleyway. “I saw him survive a bullet wound, for fuck’s sake. He must be on something good.”

“You- know about that?” Louis paled. “But that- it-”

Only he and Harry had known about his encounter with the drug dealers that night. Louis was sure of it. But if Stenlock had seen it, then maybe…

“Oh, God,” Louis closed his eyes. “You were one of the people doing the drug deal, weren’t you?”

“It’s none of your fucking business,” Stenlock snarled, and he looked disgusted with himself. “I just- I need to be as fast as him so I can get my place back. Tell me how.”   


“Why the ever-loving fuck should I help you?” Louis was yelling at that rate. “You’ve made me feel like shit for years, you’ve made my school life a living Hell-”

“If you want to go to that dance, you’ll help me!” Stenlock roared. “Why should you get to have it all, huh? All you’ve ever done is take shit from me! They kicked me out of school when they heard about the drug deal. My friends- they won’t even talk to me. And now, all I see is the town raving about Superman, and all I hear is people talking about how cute you two are together-”

“That’s not my fault, Stenlock!” Louis’ voice reached a new pitch. “Maybe if you weren’t such a homophobic piece of utter shit these things wouldn’t happen to you!”   


There was a crack; Stenlock’s fist came crashing into Louis’ face, and he went sprawling onto the ground. For a second, all he could think about was the pain searing through his eye, and the sickening feeling of panic in his throat, his chest heaving as he tried to breathe. He’d never been punched before, never gotten into a proper fight, and had no fucking clue of what to do...why hadn’t he just asked for help when he needed it.

“All I need is a name,” Stenlock yelled, directly into Louis’ ear. “The name of what he’s using. Is it a steroid? A hormone? A stimulant? What is-”

Something must’ve distracted Stenlock, because he didn’t finish his train of thought. Instead, he looked up all of a sudden, eyes wide and face pale. And then, all Louis heard was:

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Harry was stood in the opening of the alley, deep blue suit reflecting the light, fists clenched from the cufflinked sleeves. Louis didn’t think he’d ever seen him that angry before- an unnatural hardness to his features, causing his brow to crease and his mouth to become a small red line.

Stenlock gaped, lips trembling in awe, and then Harry ran forwards and charged into him, barreling the both of them to the back of the alleyway. Louis couldn’t breathe- there was so much happening at once, and nothing he could do. He sat up in time to see Stenlock swing for Harry, staggering wildly, and Harry dart back in response. He squealed as Harry held his hand behind his back, and Louis felt a sickening sense of pity strike his chest.

“What were you doing?” Harry asked, voice hoarse and unnaturally wooden. “What did you want with him?”

“Har- Harrr,” Louis tried, stumbling forwards. He was beginning to feel dizzy.

“Did you hurt him?” Harry shoved Stenlock up against the wall, still holding his arm behind his back. “What did you do?”

“-Harry,” Louis said, chest feeling tight. 

“I’ll tell everyone,” Stenlock started to cry. “If you don’t tell me what you use, I’ll tell everyone.”

“And then what?” Harry’s face crumpled with disbelief. “Then what, Stenlock? Do you really think that being like me will fix everything for you?”

There was a deadly pause, in which Stenlock just breathed heavily against the wall, his eyes bloodshot and his Adam’s apple rising and falling. Harry’s jaw was tighter than Louis had ever seen it, his entire body angled sharply, as though it was a weapon, and not the gangly, harmless frame of the guy Louis knew and loved. 

“It would get me back on the team,” Stenlock wheezed, voice all fake and pathetic. “Get my life back. Do you have any idea of what I could do with what you can do? I could break records. Change the world. And you’re just running about using it to make everyone else feel like shit.”

Because Stenlock had never done that in his life, had he? Louis could’ve laughed if his face wasn’t hurting so much. Instead he wheezed and tried to drag himself forwards, needing to intervene before Harry did something he regretted. God knows Louis would’ve in his position.

“I’m trying to help,” Harry said, voice heavy with sadness. “I’m trying to stop people like you hurting others. I don’t want to use it for profit. I never would use it for profit.”   


Stenlock wheezed. “You’re a bitch, Styles.”

“H, please,” Louis breathed. “Just leave him.”

All he wanted was to go home. All he wanted was to be close to Harry, all he wanted was for things to go back to normal, all he wanted was to feel safe again. It must’ve shown in his voice, because Harry turned to look at him- still holding Stenlock against the wall and his face red with fury. As he met Louis’ eye, the alien expression on his face dulled, and turned into one of pure guilt and emotion.

He loosened his grip on Stenlock, who broke free and began to stagger away, blubbering nonsensically: “You fucking freak. You broke my arm.”

Harry just stared at him coldly before glancing to Louis. “Are you okay?”

Louis managed to nod mutely before he was interrupted by Stenlock, who remained growling a few metres away from them:

“This isn’t over. I’ll tell everyone. I’ll tell everyone you’re that...that freak.”

“Go ahead. Nobody’ll believe you.” Louis hissed into the concrete, face still burning. “Most people have forgotten you exist in the first place.”   


Stenlock’s expression was furious, but one glance from Harry was enough to send him scarpering off into the evening, steps clumsy and fast. The instant he left, Harry was by Louis’ side, cupping his back, roaming his hands all over him. It took Louis a moment to realise that he was checking if anything was broken.

“I’m fine,” Louis said, blinking. “Honestly. I’m fine.”

Harry was unsure, and tilted his face from side to side, fingers soft upon his jaw. His gaze was scrutinous, and his touch even more so.

“H,” Louis scowled. “Honestly. Scan me if you don’t believe me. It’s okay.”

Harry did so and sighed, his fingers centred upon Louis’ left eye, which stung horribly, and was growing swollen by the second. “He hit you.”

“It’s my fault,” Louis whispered, feeling his eyes water. “I saw him watching me ages ago. I should’ve told you.”

“Lou,” Harry frowned, expression heavy with guilt.

“No...seriously,” Louis closed his eyes. He felt shaky still, the emotions of the moment still trampling over him. “This is on me.”

For a moment they sat there together, Louis leaning onto Harry’s chest, and Harry staring intently into the darkness. Louis would’ve wanted to know what Harry was thinking any other day of the week, but right then, he didn’t want to know. He was feeling rather awful and sorry for himself, and would’ve sat in that alley for decades if it meant he didn’t have to face the world.

Sirens shook him from his sadness, and then, it felt like a world of commotion had rained upon them. The police car parked adjacent and out of it popped two officers that looked more confused than anything else. Harry tightened his grip on Louis.

“I called them just before I found you,” Harry said, running his palm down Louis’ back. “Don’t worry, baby. It’s gunna be alright.”

-

Louis clung to Harry’s side the entire night. They managed to give a mostly accurate description of what had happened, and why there was a developing bruise over Louis’ left eye, and why he’d gone missing, and why there was a presumably hysterical ex-jock wandering the streets, so desperate to be someone that he’d ruined everything. 

The most interesting part, Harry thought, was how in the middle of this altercation, Superman had supposedly showed up and saved the day...leaving Harry to find Louis moments later.

“Did you get a good look at the guy?” The police officer asked. “We’ve been hearing reports left right and centre. Figure we could bring him in one day, do some tests.”

“It was all just sort of a blur,” Louis explained, a red shock blanket drawn tight around his skinny shoulders. “And of course, I couldn’t really see, with the eye and all…”

Harry was grateful for the quick save. What he wasn’t grateful for was the fact that they all had to go down to the police station to file a witness report, and that his parents were there waiting for him, expressions furious.

They hugged him first, of course. Made sure he was fine. But then, he was in for a world of yelling and hissing, and it was much to Harry’s dismay that Louis was too distracted dealing with his grandmother’s worries to provide sufficient backup.

“What in the Hell do you think you were thinking?” Suzanne was hissing. “You could’ve just waited for the police, you could’ve just told us, you could’ve just-”

“Mama, he was gunna hurt Louis,” Harry murmured, cheeks red. “There wasn’t much I could do and I- I was angry.”

“You were meant for better than this,” Suzanne hissed, and it took Michael’s hands on her shoulders to even remotely calm her down to say- “We’ll be talking about this when we get home, Mister.”

Harry ignored her and looked for Louis in the crowd. He didn’t care how much his parents yelled at him as long as Louis was okay. The left side of his face was all swollen, and the on-call paramedic was saying it was lucky Stenlock didn’t break anything. The thought alone sent Harry into waves of fury. But he had to stomach it for now- people needed him, and he couldn’t let himself get distracted by anything else.

“We’re going home,” Suzanne decided, tugging on his arm. “The police say they’re done with us for now, and quite frankly, you’re lucky it wasn’t worse-”

“Let me see Louis first,” Harry said, borderline begging. They were making a scene, he knew that, but he also knew that Louis was walking around like a wounded puppy, a complete loss of direction in his eyes, and that  he never wanted to see Louis like that again.

“Not a chance in Hell. We’re leaving,” Suzanne stomped her foot.

“Let’s go, buddy,” Michael held Harry’s shoulder. “Come on. You can see him later. Let’s just go.”

Harry met Louis’ eye as he was lead out of the building, parents very much towing him along. Louis’ expression wasn’t sad. It was more mischievous, more like the normal Louis Harry knew- and should’ve let Harry know what he was in for from the very beginning.

-

It was all Louis’ fault, which was ironic, because Louis knew Harry was probably doing the exact same thing: blaming himself. But during the miserable ride home, during his grandmother’s lectures and fusses, during the police interviews and the medical treatments Louis knew.

He knew this was on him.

He should’ve told someone about Stenlock. Or dealt with it- properly. Instead, he’d just let it fester, because he was scared and proud and couldn’t bring himself to deal with the notion that he was, like any other human being, breakable.

But he was. He was so, so breakable. And as Louis arrived home all he could do was slump onto the sofa and cry. Harry would be so much better off without him. He was like nothing else Louis had ever seen, nothing like him had ever walked the Earth, and he had potential- buckets full of it. He could achieve more in one night than Louis could ever do in a lifetime. And yet, Louis had put that on the line. He was Harry’s weakness, and he despised himself for it.

He despised everything.

Whilst he lay there, sobbing and hiccuping into a pillow on the sofa, Granny Viv pottered around him. It was what she always did in the face of tragedy: potter about. At some point she put an ice pack on his face and made a cup of tea. When that was, exactly, Louis couldn’t tell. And at some point she was running her fingers through his hair, which she never did, except when things were bad.

Very bad.

She did it on the day she told him his parents were never coming back for him. They’d stayed up all night, watching cartoons, her fingers threading through his hair and Louis’ heart steadily cracking in two. For some reason, this night was worse. Because there were no far-away, villainous figures to blame this on. There was no reassurance, no damage that could’ve been fixed easily. This time, the damage was written all over his face, and it wasn’t anyone else’s fault but his own.

“It will bruise,” Granny Viv said, words soothing as they hung in the air. “But it will heal.”

Louis wondered if she was talking about his pride or his face. Eventually, he grew too tired to cry, and retired to his bedroom, sick to death of everything and longing for Harry. There was a stinging gut impulse within him that grew desperate for his arms. And then, as soon as he turned on the light, he saw his prom suit hanging from his mirror, and started crying even more.

Flicking the switch back off didn’t help. Smothering his face into the nearest pillow didn’t either. The truth was everywhere to see. Louis had ruined everything for everyone around him, as he always did, but even then, his throat ached and his chest stung and he was too proud to admit it. God- he hated this. He hated it all.

At about one in the morning, it started to rain- enormous droplets clattering down upon the skylight. Louis watched it for a while, tears drying on his cheeks, the odd serenity of the moment catching him off guard.

And then, a figure, rising out of the dark. For a moment Louis thought he was dreaming. But then, just as he was about to rub his eyes, a palm fell flat against the glass. Louis didn’t need to ask who it was or why: his limbs just numbly lead him to the skylight hatch, opening it just enough for Harry to slip inside.

He was soaking wet in a big blue hoodie, his glasses steamed up and his curls glued to his forehead. But Lord, he was beautiful, and Lord, he was so needed in that moment that Louis could’ve cried. He wasn’t entirely sure that he didn’t.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Harry said, and he rose his hands up to cup Louis’ face; wet palms on either side of his cheeks. “My parents literally stopped yelling at me three minutes ago. Had to listen.”

He seemed almost happy about this fact, which was ironic, because Louis was being torn in two. God, Harry was so good. And he...he had only ever caused him to suffer.

“I’m sorry,” Louis’ voice cracked. He couldn’t help it; he felt so motherfucking pathetic.

“Oh, Lou,” Harry dipped his head down and started kissing him, touch merging with the words in his mouth. “Lou, Lou, Lou. It’s not your fault.”

“I ruined everything,” Louis closed his eyes. “Don’t stand there and tell me I didn’t. Because I did. And- God. Look at me. My face looks like a beachball.”

Harry rested their noses together. “It does not.”

“I’m such a mess,” Louis whispered. “God. Harry, I’m so so sorry. We missed the dance.”

“It’s just a dance,” Harry shrugged, wrapping his arms around Louis’ waist. “It’s fine. Who needs a dance, anyway? We could dance anywhere. It’s no biggie.”

“You wanted to go,” Louis balled his hands into fists as Harry continued to hold him. “I- I wanted to go. And I just- God, it was going to be so  _ perfect.” _

Harry took a step back at Louis’ seething and just held his face for a second, meeting his eye. 

“I don’t know about you,” he said. “But nothing associated with Smallville High screams perfect to me.”   


The retort was spoken so sincerely that Louis laughed, surprising himself. Harry’s face warmed in a smile and he wiped Louis’ tears from his face, touch soft.

“I wanted to go, yeah. But only to be with you. I thought it would be nice. But we don’t need it. One of the first things my mothers taught me is that our homes are where we choose to make them,” Harry let out a little chuckle. “I guess I’m living proof of that.”

“I know,” Louis started. “But-”

“No. No buts,” Harry decided. “You should’ve told me about Stenlock, yeah. But this isn’t your fault. I know you well enough to say that. And I know you’re sorry.”

Louis closed his eyes. “I’m only sorry because I have a black eye.”

“That’s your self-pity talking.” Harry tugged on the collar of Louis’ polo, which was still obnoxious, and streaked with tears. “What does your common sense say?”

“My...my common sense says…” Louis sniffed, eyes on the floor. “That I’m lucky to have you. And it’s right, H. I don’t know how you put up with me.”

“Shush,” Harry tugged him into a hug, warm and tight. “If anyone is to blame here, it’s me. I put you into that situation. Stenlock wanted what  _ I _ had, not you.”

“But I let him get to you,” Louis sniffed. 

“What I feel for you is not a weakness,” Harry snuggled his nose into Louis’ shoulder. “Okay? It’s not. And feeling weak in return isn’t shameful. It’s a part of who we all are.”   


Louis knew that. But God- did it feel embarrassing. 

He put his arms around Harry’s waist and just felt him there for a while, close and solid, a constant in all of the chaos. At some point they ended up kissing- Louis didn’t know when. But he remembered the cold of Harry’s lips, still wet from the rain, and he remembered pulling his polo shirt off so Harry could roam his touch all over him, steady and endless and soft, and he remembered the whimper Harry made as Louis sucked a kiss onto his neck. But that was all. For the most part they just lay in bed in each other’s arms, quiet and considerative.

Harry brushed a touch along Louis’ face- the undamaged side, of course. “I never got to thank you for the suit you made me.”

Louis snorted, feeling sheepish and sleepy against Harry’s chest. “Oh, that thing. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Don’t say that. It’s amazing,” Harry drew a pattern on Louis’ back with his fingertip, movements lazy. “S’a shame I won’t be able to wear it any time soon, is all.”

“What?” Louis closed his eyes in a frown. “Why?”

“I’ve been  _ grounded  _ from active duty for the time being,” Harry spoke. “My parents found out about the Superman thing, and considering the night’s events, they were not best pleased.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong- you saved me!” Louis protested. “And you could’ve hurt Stenlock so much worse, but you didn’t!”

“It’s not that they’re worried about,” Harry rubbed Louis’ shoulder. “It’s the idea of exposure that scares them. It was because of the incident with the drug dealers that Stenlock found out my identity in the first place. I wasn’t careful enough in the first place, so they don’t see why I would be careful now.”

Louis shook his head against Harry’s chest. “That’s not fair. They should at least give you a chance. They’re your powers, and you should decide what you do with them.”

“They’ll get over it,” Harry sighed. “And I get where they’re coming from. It’s just...I sort of started to get used to doing what I do. And every night I’m not out there...that’s enough night someone could get seriously hurt or worse.”

“It’ll be okay,” Louis murmured. “H, imma be honest...I don’t know how long I can stay awake.”

“You can sleep. It’s okay,” Harry kissed him on the forehead. “One question before you do, though.”

“Hmm?”

“What you wrote on that letter...did you really mean it?”

There was a tint of hope in Harry’s voice, maybe even adoration. Louis couldn’t have stopped himself from kissing Harry’s chest if he wanted to: it was the only part of him he could reach, and he needed to do something in that moment to show his love.

“Every word,” he spoke, slipping in and out of sleep. 

Just before he nodded off, he felt a grand movement against his hair; undoubtedly Harry’s dimpled beam in response. 

-

Harry’s parents grew to forgive him for the whole Stenlock fight situation, but they truly did ground him from the superhero thing for a while. For two weeks straight after the incident they breathed down his neck, making sure he didn’t sneak off in the middle of the night, and eyeing the papers the next morning for reports of a masked figure in blue. It got to the point where Harry was desperate to venture out again, but he found that between exams, Louis, and the new cow on the farm, he quite simply didn’t have the time. Or the energy.

The calf was born two weeks after the Stenlock incident, to an audience of not only Michael, Suzanne, Harry and Louis, but to Niall and Liam too. Niall called the birth the “grossest thing he’d ever seen”, Liam mostly just looked intrigued, and Harry was crying so hard that he barely saw any of it in the first place.

“He’s just so tiny!” he’d mumbled, out of sheer love and adoration, once he saw the little foal stumbling about. “Look at him! He’s a little ball of fluff!”

Next came the naming process, which was way more tedious than the actual birth had been in the first place, as everyone seemed to have opposing ideas:

Suzanne: “We should call him Colin. It was your grandfather’s name, after all.”

Michael: “We can’t name a cow after a human. That’s just weird.”

Louis: “I think you should stick with the villains theme. Call him Jerry.”

Niall: “Jerry is not a villain name.”

Louis: “Have you even seen Tom and Jerry?”

Liam: “I think Edith would be a great name for a cow.”

Niall and Louis: “Shut up, Liam.”

Louis: “The baby’s called Jerry. End of.”

At the end of the day, Harry didn’t really mind what the baby was called, and since the decision rested upon him for some strange reason, he decided to save himself days of whining and just call the baby  _ Jerry.  _ It seemed to fit, as well as ending the various disputes on the matter. 

Louis was happy enough with it. In fact, in the coming months Louis was happy about most things. He applied for an apprenticeship at the Daily Planet. He managed to snatch top spot at the school newspaper back from Niall, thanks to a heartwarming article on the “miracle of childbirth”. And, most importantly, he’d made a full recovery from the incident with Stenlock. 

Louis was right: everyone at school had seemed to forget about him. Whether that was a conscious choice or just the way the school system ran, Harry didn’t know. He still didn’t know whether he’d made the right choice in terms of dealing with Stenlock either. At times he felt as though he was completely lost as to who he was meant to be; fate pulling him in a thousand different directions at once.

All he knew was that he wanted to help people as much as he possibly could. It took days of begging for Suzanne to relent on the “no-superheroics” rule. Even then, he had to take someone along with him to make sure things didn’t get out of hand, and he had to be back by at least one in the morning.

“But what if there’s crime past three in the morning?” He’d whined.

“Well,” Suzanne had crossed her arms. “It’ll just have to wait.”

And it was so that he ended up sat with Louis on top of the roof of the local supermarket, their feet dangling over the side, and Smallville’s nightlife sprawled out in front of them. Louis had been ecstatic at the prospect of accompanying Harry on his little crusades. He’d said that he could be the  _ Foggy Nelson  _ to his  _ Daredevil. _

Harry had no idea what he meant.

They talked for most of the night, catching up on gossip from school, or bickering over what Harry’s superhero catchphrase should be. Louis had many vivid ideas, most of which included sayings about justice and peace, and Harry found them all hilarious.

Unavoidably, the topic turned to darker matters. Harry had been informed that morning by Michael that Stenlock had been seen around town, completing community service to atone for what he’d done. Since then it’d rested rather heavily on Harry’s mind.

“Do you think I did the right thing?” he asked, feet swaying from the roof. “With Stenlock, I mean.”

“What do you mean by that?” Louis asked. “Of course you did the right thing. You saved me.”

Harry was unsure. “I sprained his arm.”

“He gave me a black eye!” 

Louis had gotten over his moment of self-pity, evidently, because he was now as brash as anything on the topic of Stenlock, and ready to fist-fight Harry the very second he began doubting himself or his actions. 

“I just- I wish I could’ve helped him,” Harry admitted. “Yeah, he was a dick. And yeah, he deserved everything that happened to him. But the whole situation- it was just kinda sad, you know?”

Louis’ jaw tightened as he fell silent with thought, blue eyes catching the moonlight. 

“I suppose,” he admitted, reluctantly. “But that doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. Things could’ve been different, and they weren’t. There’s nothing anyone can do about it now.”

“I can help people,” Harry murmured, playing with a strand of Louis’ hair.

“Yeah,” Louis’ face went undoubtedly soft, his expression melting into warm pride. “I suppose you can. But don’t feel like you  _ have _ to, H. This is your choice. It’s always your choice.”

“I want to,” Harry said, and it was true. “You know, I actually really missed doing this.”

“I can see why,” Louis looked out into the night. “You know, all of the bird shit really stands out under the moonlight.”

“Don’t be vile,” Harry nudged him, cackling.

They laughed for a moment, and Harry came to the conclusion that only Louis would be so excited about something and proceed to tear it down at the same time. God, Harry adored him. He could be so fucking annoying at times. But Harry adored him.

“It is nice up here,” Louis admitted, with a curl of the lip. “Excluding the bird poo.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Harry put his arm around Louis’ shoulder. “And I do love you, you know. I feel like it should be worth noting.”

Louis melted into his hold. “Was that before I made you the suit, or after?”

“Why?” Harry grinned into his cheek. “Was that a part of your seduction technique?”

“If it was, it certainly worked,” Louis smiled, gruffly. “The way you look at me sometimes makes me wonder if your name is under  _ sap _ in the dictionary.”

Harry leaned back and cupped Louis’ face in his hands. Oh, Louis’ precious, precious face, with eyes like the stars of Orion’s Belt and a glow like the sun. They gazed at each other for a moment, obvious to the night around them, and a growing smirk on Louis’ wonderful expression.

And then: an interlude. Underneath the traffic and the wind and the rustle of the trees, there came a yell- one that turned Harry’s head sideways, and caused his eyes to narrow with attention.

“What?” Louis asked. “What is it?”

“Bank robbery,” Harry stated, excitement helplessly building as he focused on the scene unfolding a couple of streets over. “There’s someone trying to pull an atm out of the wall with a...um… digger?”

Louis cackled for a moment, and then let go of his hand. “I guess you better go, then.”

“Yeah,” Harry stood, beaming shamelessly. “I guess I should.”

He looked out into the night for a moment, wind whipping his curls. When he looked back, Louis was standing beside him, a hand on his arm and a sappy grin on his face.

“I love you, Superman,” he said, and couldn’t refrain from laughing. “You’re my hero.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Harry cackled. Louis tugged at his shirt.

“Come on, then. You’ve gotta do the thing.”

“I haven’t got  _ time  _ to do the thing,” Harry expressed. “There’s an atm in peril.”

“The atm can wait another five seconds,” Louis expressed. “Come on. Do the thing.”

Harry rolled his eyes before parting his shirt in half, exposing the emblem underneath. He then removed his shirt and jeans, standing there on the roof in his silly Superman outfit, and Louis had never looked more ecstatic in his life.

“It’s beautiful,” he clapped, and of course he would. Harry was torn between rolling his eyes at him and kissing the absolute shit out of him.

He settled for neither. Because, as it stood, there was a digger making its way across the street with an entire atm in its claws. Snogging would have to wait.

“Okay, so now I’ve really got to go,” he said. God, the cape was so distracting. He really was going to have to work on that.

Before he flew off, Louis caught him by the arm and kissed him, cheeks red from the cold. “I love you too. You’ve gotta know that.”

Harry closed his eyes. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”

And with that he took off into the sky, wind whipping at his skin, and his cape crossing the clouds and the stars above. He could get used to this- all of this. Being loved. Being Harry. And maybe even being a superhero.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so so much for reading!! again, a big thank you to everyone who helped me along the way. 
> 
> come say hi! 
> 
> tumblr: [scottfic](http://scottfic.tumblr.com/).  
> ko-fi: [scottfic](https://ko-fi.com/scottfic/)  
> [the tag!](https://scottfic.tumblr.com/tagged/superman-au)


End file.
